Wonderful Weekend in Wales

In Which Theresa Apologises Profusely
So sorry to not have written, but what with my life as a social butterfly this week I've had no time to write. In order to get everything short and sweet (and capable of being written on my lunch hour) I'm going to just talk about the important and interesting events of the past week, which was basically me going to Wales.

In Which My Impoverishment is Detailed
Difficulties with opening a bank account (so not being able to deposit my bloody traveller's cheques) and not balancing my chequebook (thus entirely running out of money) lead me to live an impoverished lifestyle for most of the week, coming home and watching all 5 channels of the BBC (including the hilarious Q.I. with Stephen Fry of Blackadder and Jeeves & Wooster fame). The highlight of the week was getting a pastry at the new French patisserie that's just opened. The delightful pastries are unmatched in beauty and flavour, and the delightful French girl who served me and French guy who took my money spoke to me about how full of French people Kensington is. "Oui, Kensington 'as a lot of French peeple. Ze all leeve 'ere and are tres riche." Delightful, absolutely delightful.

My bank account is now sorted and I can even write cheques, thus lending me not only credibility but the ability (if I so choose) to keep track of all of the money that slips through my fingers via the medium of a little plastic card. I would, however, like to take the opportunity to point out that the exchange rate here is HORRIBLE. When I was in Wales it was 1.5--now it's 1.7. So for $800 I got a measly £430. Ahhh! Not to mention the cost of living is higher in London than other places in the U.K. (which ain't saying much). All the more reason for me to go somewhere it doesn't cost £4 for a pint...

In Which a Little Background is Given
For those of you who don't know, I spent my third year of university studying in Swansea. While there I lived in a flat with Lucy, Emily, Cat, Genefa (all English), Laurence (French) and Emily (American). The first four all shared a flat last year with another friend, Rhydian (Welsh), and all but Cat will be living together again. Cat's off to Germany next week to study for a year, but made it back for our reunion weekend. As none of them were moving in until Saturday, I stayed Friday with Stuart, whom I'm sure all of you will remember from last week's episode, diligent readers that you are.

In Which Theresa Arrives Late (as usual)
Rushing from a High Tea with the exchange students to Paddington Station, the Tube was of course delayed. Which of course made me late and flustered. Which lead to me asking a guard for the platform number for the train to Swansea. Which lead me to jump on the train seconds before it left, happy that I wouldn't have to wait an hour for the next one. Only after we pulled out of the station did I look at the sign posted in the window, which lead to a sinking feeling. London-->Reading-->Bristol-->Taunton-->Exteter-->Plymouth-->Truro-->Penzance. Penzance. In CORNWALL. Dang it! I got off at Reading (said 'redding') and waited in the chill and gloom for over an hour for the next train. Arriving at midnight, two hours late, I wasn't able to meet Stuart and his flatmates at their local pub but instead went right to his place.

In Which Stuart's House is Mentioned
Swansea is made of rows of what the British call 'terraced housing,' buildings all connected to each other. Both Stuart and the girls live in such long, narrow houses, with tiny bits of garden in the front and a bit of lawn in the back. The only difference between the girls' house and Stuart's is that Stuart lives with four other guys. I think you can guess what that means. Without going into too much detail, let's just say that when pressed to give an opinion about the place, the best I was able to come up with was 'It has a lot of potential.' Translation: give it several coats of paint, repair the crack in the wall, and maybe vaccuum more than once a year--oh, and pick up the bottles and pints everywhere--and you've got yourself a habitable student flat.

But not to complain! Stuart had bought me a huge 2-litre bottle of Strongbow (my favourite cider), gave me crisps, and listened to me argue with (I prefer the word 'discuss') his drunken flatmate Steve till 2 a.m. At which point I went to bed and they and their flatmate Adam headed next door to a neighbour's party. I feel asleep to the pounding of techno music...and woke up at the early hour of 11:30 when Stuart pounded on his door to wake me up. He, Steve and Andy, one of their other flatmates, took me out to the Uplands Diner where I had a full English breakfast. Fortified, I showered and got ready for my meeting with Lucy and her mum.

In Which 18 Months Disappears in a Flash
Lucy and her mum were just down the road at a pub enjoying lunch, and Stuart and I didn't notice them sitting in the sun (yes, it was sunny in Wales the whole time I was there!). I'd been nervous about seeing all of the girls again, wondering how the time apart would have changed things. But I needn't have worried, for everyone was the same and only my reactions to things were different. Meaning: unlike when I lived in Swansea, I wasn't going to waste my time worrying over how much I was liked, and if they liked each other more than me. Childish stuff I got worked up over way too much in Flat 200, Hendrefoelan Village. Instead, it was joyous to just sit around and talk to the girls. I had an absolute blast the entire weekend, enjoying everyone's company and seeing everything again. No angst, no hangups, just pure unadulturated, unabashed enjoyment.

In Which Saturday is Detailed
Cat met up with us at the pub and it was just a short walk to their house. They live in one of the best spots in Swansea: midway between uni, the city centre, and the beach. Everything seemed to speed up as Emily and Genefa arrived simultaneously, but then Em's parents took her off and the rest of us shared a bottle (okay, two) of wine in the back garden before we went to an adorable little Italian restaraunt where Cat used to work. From there it was on to my old haunt, the Orange House, where I went at least twice a week while at uni. Loads of drinks were consumed as we did the time-old British tradition of buying rounds, and everyone got progressively more inebriated. We were joined by Stuart and his flatmate Andy, who was a most belligerent drunk. Disappointed Emily wouldn't kiss him and I wouldn't shag either him or Stuart, he eventually told me to f- off. Ahh, alcohol, and its wondrous effects. When we went dancing at Jumpin' Jaks next door, a drunken Welshman slurred in my ear 'I think you're bloody gorgeous.' Imagine that said in a beautiful Welsh lilt and you'll know how disappointing it was to turn around and find some 50-year-old leering lager lout. That's the problem with going to over-23 nights: all the locals and Swansea slappers come out in droves. I'm not so keen on the scene as I was two years ago, but I suppose that's to be expected. The dancing = fun, the people = not so exciting.

But it was with a happy heart that I stumbled after Lucy all the way up to her delightful attic room, laying on the mattress on the floor talking and talking till the wee hours. It was just as if I'd never gone.

In Which Theresa Didn't Find What She Was Looking For, But Found Other Less Tangible Things
So that was Saturday. Sunday I woke up late, scarfed down some pastries and set out for the city centre with Lucy on a mission to find some shoes for work. The fountain burbled and splashed as the sun gently shone down on the castle and the crowds of people sauntered by. The setting was beautiful, but I fear I've been spoilt for choice living in London as I do! The myriads of shops are unrivalled by Swansea, so I decided to just come back here to buy things. Besides, the shoes that are in style annoy me so much I can't even look at them. Ruched boots, yellow stilleto pumps, pointy-toed curled-up shoes. Fashion don'ts everywhere!

As we walked along the beach of Swansea Bay I was overcome. I'm glad I lived in Swansea--the adjustment to life here was hard enough without living in a big city, and I felt safe there as I never do in London. But there are things I should have done differently: gone to the beach more is one of them, since it was literally across the street from uni. Exhilarated and invigorated from the huge stretch of sea and sky, with the Mumbles' hills breaking up the vast sweep of the shore and sailboats bobbing everywhere, Lucy and I trudged uphill and back to the flat to rendezvous with everyone.

Cat's friend Gaz (nickname of Gareth, as I'm sure you know) was back for the weekend as well, saying goodbye to Swansea before a year in France. We all got Chinese from a local takeaway before rushing around like mad to get ready for a night out. It was my goal to have a Chocolate Multiple Screaming Orgasm (the best cocktail I've ever had) at my favourite cocktail bar before going home on the train, so we quickly walked down with a quarter of an hour to spare. Alas, there was no vanilla ice cream to be had, so I had to content myself with the thought that somewhere--somewhere-in London they must make the same concoction.

I gave the beautiful girls one last hug and Gaz walked me to the train, where I trundled off in the darkness past the light-bedecked hills of Swansea, through the tunnels in the Cotswolds and back to the wide valley of the Thames.

At last, I appreciated everything for what it was. That's the gift of being out of school and 22 and removed from that 'ugly, lovely town,' as Dylan Thomas called it.