July

Second of the months of Monsoon Season, and the last time I remember rain happening was today, and I was asleep through all of it, and it's turned warm again, and this is August so it really shouldn't be in this blog post anyway.

And have I really started most of these recent blogs by talking about the weather? You must be so far on the edge of your seats you've accidentally mastered the power of levitation.

But seriously, because this is relevant, how do you spend any length of time in Wales without getting rained on? Because that's about as likely as what I just described in the paragraph above. But it happened. Yeah, okay, I only went to Wales for four days, it probably rained on the fifth (or would have done if I'd stayed that long), but then you've got scenarios which are unheard of. Scenarios which are often relegated to the realms of facetiousness and sarcasm, or sheer myth and legend. Scenarios such as snow in Hell, polite company in Birmingham. Or someone coming home from a holiday in Wales with sunburn. Which also happened.

You wouldn't believe it unless you were there, and I was, so there. It was a trip organised by the English department of my college; a bunch of English students and a couple of tutors would go stay in the Aberystwyth University accommodation for several days, where we'd have lectures, days out exploring the beach and a castle, get drunk, and be inspired enough to write some mind blowing poetry which will be put into an anthology later on.

It was sunny there, constantly, so I bought some shades, some beers, we hung out on a beach, we built the Best and Most Epicest and Bitchingest Sand Castle Evar (seriously, it had a bridge, a gate house, a flag, a frigging fire on it and a moat with a crab in), we played drinking games, I passed out on my bed in my box of an apartment with my ipod on, we went to a castle place, we had a poetry slam, we played non-drinking games with the tutors (whilst drinking), it didn't rain once, we caught a goddamn taxi... everything went better than expected. Except for those hills. The uni and its accommodation was planted neatly atop a whopping great hill, which naturally, being English, people complained about.

I did also write a couple of poems, and snap some pictures, and I did plan on writing a poem intoxicated, but I'd left my notebook in the kitchen/common room that night and could only write on the back of a letter about the schedule and info for the trip, and it was rubbish anyway.

But that was just Wales.

When I got back home, term had ended and the summer holidays proper loomed, and what better way to start it than with an epic Saturday up town? An epic Saturday up town with a Zombie March, that's what. And also the chance to see a band a bunch of guys I know at college formed, who were gonna play a sort of free outside venue.

Instead I get whisked away up to Northhumberland. Ah well. We stayed at a nice cottage there, where the furniture and TV didn't look like they were from the 1970s, the weather was often nice and me and my brothers didn't spend all the time sleeping, so it could have been worse. We walked along beaches, we saw castles, we ate at The Official Hairy Bikers Best Fish n' Chip Shop in the Country (good god it was better than Jim Morrison), so it could have been worse, i.e. not worth it.

And we met up with our cousins in Edinburgh. It really is the sugar on the shortbread, the cake in the oatcake, irn in the bru. That whole sentence was awful, but you get the idea. You should really visit Edinburgh some time, or, indeed, go again, it's a wonderful place.

We round the trip off with a stop at my auntie and uncles flat, and end up coming home with a shopping bag full of CDs. So yeah, definatly worth it. I'm on Led Zeppelin's Presence right now.

Right, now if you'll excuse me, I've got an episode of Torchwood to watch.