I Guess This Is Growing Up

fifty points if you can find me. clue: I look like an assassin just pointed a gun at my head and said 'smile or die'

When you’re a child, eighteen seems like official, bona fide adulthood. Eighteen year olds LOOK old. They don’t have braces, they have facial hair, they’re all pretty tall, their acne has cleared up and they’ve grown out of any awkward early teen rebellions. Moving out seemed like the epitome of grown-up-ness – the necessity of cooking every meal, doing the washing and taking care of a broken boiler without an ever-present adult to supervise seemed to come with the package, along with going to bed whenever you please and eating the last avocado without getting a bollocking.

The reason I am breaching the subject of adulthood with this much loved but slightly abandoned (sorry, I’m working on blogging more, I promise) blog is because I am to tackle the adult lifestyle head-on when I finally fly the nest in a few days time. Do I feel like an adult, like I always thought I would/should? No, no I definitely do not. I own my own frying pan, toilet brush, ironing board, cheese grater and set of teaspoons, yet somehow I feel unworthy of such items – and not just because I am yet to successfully iron an item of clothing or clean a toilet. As excited as I am at the prospect of living an exciting, shiny new parent-free lifestyle, I am also apprehensive about finally having to act like a grown-up.

But this apprehension has lead me to ask this question – what does it mean to ‘grow up’? As far as I am concerned, I have grown up considerably in the last year alone. I have had my first proper paid job (and I have been promptly fired from said proper paid job), had a go at driving (not my cup of tea), drank in a pub without having to sneak in (although we always seem to end up binging on the profiteroles rather than the beers), been on holiday without sane supervised adults, discovered who my true friends are and, most recently, fully experienced the full pelt of heartbreak. Of course I’ve done your conventional things like voted, passed my A levels and got into university but I won’t bore you with that dire business.

The last item on that list, as I am sure you would assume, has been the most painful but also the thing that has helped me grow up the most. Learning how to be sans boyfriend is, and is going to continue to be the hardest thing I have ever done. Even harder than giving up fish for the sake of being a proper vegetarian, and that was difficult enough. Trying to be ‘myself’ without Him is like being someone else entirely. What makes this entire situation harder is the fact that I have to present myself as a whole, emotionally stable and likeable person to the people I will be living and studying with for the next four years in just a matter of days. All I can present to them right now is Fat Girl Eating Bread and Crying. I think that the biggest test of my adult capabilities will be having to pick myself up, find my feet and put on a brave face to the strangers I will learn to like, laugh with and rely on. Opening myself up while all I want to do is lock myself away will be hard, just as hard as being Me without Him.

I hope those of you who are also moving out and embarking on a new life adventure aren’t in my predicament. I hope you all have brilliant new cheese graters and enough teaspoons to host an egg and spoon race for your entire hall of residence. I wish you all luck in being adults, or at least more adult than we are right now. Now excuse me while I get back to my bread and sobbing, I’ve got a lot to get out of my system in five days.

Submarine: twee, awkward, amazing

It’s not often that a film can reach out and touch the inner awkward teenager within all of us. As someone whose inner awkward teenagers is still thriving and very much in her prime, Submarine’s hilariously uncomfortable dialogue and the cringeworthy actions of the protagonist, Oliver Tate (Craig Roberts), came very close to the bone. After all, who hasn’t imagined their own funeral, complete with national shrine-building and hoards of mourners crippling at the nationally-announced news of their death? Oh, nobody else. I guess it’s just you and I, Oliver. Submarine is the brilliant Richard Ayode’s directing debut, and the film was a brilliant move for him, as it will undoubtedly become a cult favourite, along with his other works including the IT Crowd, Garth Marenghi and the Mighty Boosh. Set in dingy but somehow twee Swansea, Submarine follows the life of fifteen year old Oliver Tate, who sees himself as a tortured linguist but in reality is regrettably an adorable but unpopular social leper. Tate has a creepy crush on an exam-ridden and fire-obsessed classmate Jordana (Yasmin Paige), and after a few romantic sacrifices, they become involved in a cute but slightly awkward relationship. Although smitten with his lady, Tate becomes obsessed with the dwindling romance between his nerdy dad Lloyd (Noah Taylor)and MILFy mum Jill (Sally Hawkins), especially when an old spark Graham (Paddy Considine) moves in next door. As Tate’s romance with beautiful but strange Jordanna develops, he has to choose between intervening in the collapse of his parents’ marriage or supporting his girlfriend in her hour of need.

Accompanied by the beautiful drone of Alex Turner, Submarine is essentially the story of a teenage boy trying to cope with relationships; be that of his parents, or his own. I would call this a ‘coming of age’ film, if I knew exactly what that phrase actually meant, but for now I’ll call it a tragic wonder. And I don’t mean tragic in an ‘Ian Curtis’s death was a tragic loss’ way, I mean it as in ‘that tragic woman who pushes cats around in a pram in Ashford’ way. Submarine is one of the few films with characters that really hit home for me. Although I expect very few of the audience monitor their parents’ sex lives, nor would take a date to sit in a bath near some train tracks, it is easy to relate to Oliver Tate’s comically intricate thoughts. There is something incredibly captivating about Submarine, whether you’re fifteen for fifty four.

A Sarcasm and Two Sugar guide to: Austria

It was with a heavy heart (and some horrible flu symptoms) that I bid farewell to rainy England and hopped on a two hour flight to Munich in February half term. I was leaving a potentially lively week of nights out and Come Dine With Me-e

sque dinner parties, but in retrospect I don’t regret spending my week away from college in beautiful, snow-engulfed Fügen. Having been to Austria twice before, I wasn’t expecting to discover anything new about the country, but this time I made some observations that I just could not keep to myself.

FOOD

There seems t be an unofficial law in Austria, dictating that every dish consumed must either contain copious amounts of cheese or meat. Austrians don’t really seem to grasp the concept of vegetarians, let alone poor vegans. Luckily I quite happily drowned myself in cheese for the entire trip.

Sick in a pan with herbs? This was the saltiest dish I have ever eaten. Looks rank, was delicious.

This looks suspiciously like fried hair. I think it was dumplings and onions but to be honest, I don't think I will ever know what I ate that night.

On my first visit to Austria we stayed in this odd, kind of cheap hotel where a huge red-faced woman served our food to us, and got angry if we didn't devour every morsel. On the night that all the meat-eaters got fried chicken and chips, the hotel staff saw it only fit to serve us veggies up the next best thing – fried cheese and chips. Otherwise known as a heart attack on a plate. I thought this was the only time I would have the honour of eating battered cheese but again this year it was served up to me. Oddly satisfying, but not quite worth the food coma that only cheese coated in batter with chips can induce.

BOOZE

My two previous trips to Austria were with my secondary school, so we weren't exactly able to go on a wild, aprés-ski rampage. We managed to somehow acquire a could of 6% beers, but this is all I saw of Austrian alcohol. How I was missing out...

Beer

Austrian beer is really really good! If you're into beer (I'm usually not because one glass kind of makes me feel like I ate a loaf of bread). It's much more bubbly and has a certain ZING to it (I'm not really up on the whole food/wine critic lingo, sorry).

Schnapps Tee

A shot of Schnapps and a mug of black tea. I wasn't really sure whether this was supposed to be consumed á la Jagerbomb, but this combination is supposedly good for a cold.

Jager Tee

This is the strangest drink I have ever consumed. It smells strong enough to knock a small child out and tastes a bit like nail varnish remover. My mum was unable to move after one small cup.

dad before consuming jagertee/after

ACTIVITIES

So, what to Austrians do for fun, I hear you ask? A lot of pretty crazy shit, I answer. You've got the conventional winter sports including skiing, snowboarding and that weird 'cross country' skiing on really tiny skis that I've never really seen the point of. As far as I have experienced, Austrian and German skiers and snowboarders are on another level of crazy when it comes to winter sports. There is no slope to steep, no off piste route too horrific and no velocity too speedy for these guys. But when they're off the slopes, traditional Austrian hobbies are also kind of baffling. I've played 'skittles' in Austria twice, on both occasions without much luck as the alleyways always seem kind of sloped and the skittles are attached to string and seem very reluctant to fall over. Apart from this, I tried tobogganing, which definitely goes in the top ten most terrifying experiences. A toboggan is essentially two mini skis stuck to a bit of wood, with a big of string for you to hold onto as you hurtle down a fairly steep path. There is no one to guide you or check you're not dead so I don't really blame my mum for dragging her feet and screaming like there was no tomorrow the whole way down. I would recommend tobogganing to those who don't mind the occasional near death experience.

DÉCOR

The Austries might be pros at turning an innocent cuppa into a deadly lashing of booze, rocketing your cholesterol through the roof and doing anything death-threatening involving snow, but I am guessing all this left little time to focus on their décor. My particular favourite place was home to all of the following:

An ant on a casual plant pot adventure

w00000h it's like Hawaii in the middle of Austria! Somebody get me a pinna colada and a hula skirt

Hey my name's Sammy bear. My owners used to love me and my sad but kind of sweet pajamas and my stupid sleeping cap but eventually they got sick of me and stuck me up here to give the place a more 'homely' feel.

Just so that our customers never feel too at ease, we stuck a creepy golden cherub by every table to watch them eat.

We thought too much gold was too flash so in some cases the cherubs had to be marble. But don't worry, we made up for it by making sure this one was in a gollum-esque position for uptimum creepiness.

Although this one place was particularly... mismatched to say the least, most places ran along a sort of 'Christmas' theme all winter long, including lots of tinsel and sometimes fern trees too. Ah well, when you're eating a plate of deep fried cheese, the you kind of stop caring.

All in all, the whole trip was pretty successful. I'm glad we went away as it was probably the last family holiday I will have, until I have to start dragging the geriatrics along on my own family shenanigons (if I ever decide children are worth my while). Would I reccomend Austria to a friend? Yes, yes I would indeed. Although I'd suggest learning some German phrases - 'yes', 'no', 'please', 'sorry I didn't mean to ski into you, are you alive?' etc., although I managed to pick up a few phrases along the way - 'apfelsaft bitte' means 'apple juice, please' (it wasn't the wildest of holidays). Just bare in mind that Austrian people love to stare and you'll get a very negative reaction if you loudly say 'the only German words I know are 'volksgemeinschaft' and 'reich'.