A Night in an Airport

The more I think about it, the more ridiculous it seems that I am 21 years old but have never been on holiday without my family. But within 24 hours, this will have changed. It is time to cast away my cares and dismiss long sleeves! Now that my exams have finished and my year abroad in Strasbourg is technically over, what better way of filling my last few weeks ‘on the continent’ than gallivanting around the south eastern coast of Spain with the gang.
I have packed up my bag, thrown away the shrivelled carrots in the back of my fridge, decanted my shampoo into 100ml and told my boyfriend that he can watch the next 2 episodes of Game of Thrones without me while I’m away which I’m already regretting. Almost as much as I’m regretting my grand plan to spend a night in Basel airport alone. Sometimes I am surprised by my own brilliance at concocting such horrible plans.

My flight out to meet my chums in Alicante is at 6:10 in the morning and so in order to save time and money, I have set up camp in a comfy chair to make the most of the free wifi and warm surroundings.

  
There’s a man nearby snoring as though his life depends on it and a lady with shoes off, feet on the seats and not a care in the world. The building as a whole is quiet and dark, not too bad a place to get a couple hours of kip before my flight tomorrow morning. I’m going to set a few dozen alarms to make sure that I wake up in time and don’t render this whole exercise a waste. I know some people sleep in airports fairly frequently, but this is new territory to me, as is mainland Spain – I have never experienced either and I’m excited to get this first objective done and move onto the next one!

Now playing: nothing, it’s nap time!

HOOVERGATE

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mad as a Hatter.”

‘Mad as a Hatter’ was the writing prompt for today and this incident immediately sprung to my mind. It’s something of a legend in our friendship group. Allow me to share it with you. But be warned, Lizzie + rage = swearing, if you’re overly sensitive to that kind of stuff maybe this post isn’t for you!

Now, if you know me even a little, you will know that I’m not an angry person – you can find me in the easy-going, ditheringly cheerful category. The sort that needs supervision in the kitchen when handling knives; on my second ever day at university I sliced my thumb on a tin of beans. Blood everywhere. No beans for Lizzie that day :(

There’s some background to why rage is particularly out of character for me, now to the event.

Last year, I was living in university halls with my brand new and awesome friends aka, my Canterbury family (LOVE YOU GUYS!). Any of you jolly splendid people reading this who have ever lived in halls know that they’re not the most soundproof of places to stay. You have to be pretty tolerant when your neighbours make noise as chances are, a skype session with your family of what seems like a decent volume to you, could be torturously loud for the poor soul living next door. As a student, you are wary of your volume, so you turn down your music slightly, but not too much because your mate next door likes to play guitar at half 11 at night and you CAN HEAR ALL OF IT.

On the night of the incident in question, I was already tired, I had a couple of assignments due soon and so had been working on them all evening, so when it was a reasonable time to call it a night (so after the thought process of ‘is 9:30 too early to go to bed? …maybe. I’lll leave it a bit longer’) sleep came on stealthy wings and transported me to dreamland where I was perfectly happy and comfortable.

And then it happened.

3am rolled around. My flatmates got back from an evening ‘working’ in the library…they keep strange hours, I know. They made noise and a helluva lot of it. They ruthlessly dragged me back to reality with their jeering and it disrupted my snuggles. I was not a happy bunny. Not at all. Bitches don’t interrupt my sleep!

But this was fine, I’d certainly made my fair share of noise late at night after a couple of drinks and they hadn’t flown into a frenzy then.

A couple minutes passed and I thought the drama had subsided and was drifting back to the land of unicorns and Channing Tatums but oh no, this was premature.

A certain house mate of mine by the name of ‘Louis’ had been locked out of his room by our dear friends ‘Joe’ (from a couple of posts back, remember?) and ‘Carl’ and decided that the only thing he could do to remove them from his room was to TURN THE HOOVER ON.

fuck-meme_00370790

I know!! I don’t understand! Did he think he could use the suction of the machine to suck them out?! I have no idea! Clearly it was the stupidest idea that anyone has ever had, so needless to say I flew into a rage and exploded from my room like an arrow loosed from a bow and poor Louis was about to feel my wrath.

“What the FUCK are you doing?!?!” I screeched mercilessly in his poor unsuspecting face. “It’s 3 in the morning and you’ve TURNED THE HOOVER ON TO GET THEM OUT OF YOUR ROOM?? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!?!”

Needless to say, Louis shat himself and Joe and Carl emerged from his room looking pretty sheepish. They all mumbled apologies and left me to stalk back into my room in a fit of rage with a cartoon storm cloud above my head.

In the morning, Joe and Carl thought the whole fracas was hilarious and Louis appeared terrified of me for about a week afterwards. But it all turned out for the better and the four of us are thick as thieves now and they do the washing up whenever I ask them to, for fear of a repeat of Hoovergate.

So concludes my tale of anger and hoovers and lack of sleep. It may seem like an irrational thing to rage about, but anyone gets in the way of me and a good night’s sleep without good reason runs the risk of my own personal Hulk coming out and scaring you witless. You have been warned.

Now playing: Shinedown – Devour

A certain type of human…

There is a certain type of person in this world I wish to discuss. Let me tell you about this most peculiar breed.

These people are unknowingly selfish and can’t really do anything to help it. They can subject you to endless amounts of tossing and turning at night and can really kill a good night’s sleep.

They take from you the thing you love the most in the world at a really inconvenient time and can very easily send you into fits of anger to a greater extent than the 5 smug, punchable faces of One Direction winning an award for ‘Best Pop/Rock Artist’…I mean, come on, how does that not make you rage?

The particular type of human being to which I am alluding is the Lesser-Spotted Common Garden Duvet Hog

duvet hog

The duvet hog or duvet whore if you prefer is the assassin of deep sleep, the murderer of that awesome dream (you know, the one where you’re eating a stack of pancakes as big as your head while riding a unicorn down the beach with Channing Tatum…I don’t know what you dream about, you weirdo), the destroyer of your important REM time.

Picture the scene: it’s the middle of the night. There’s someone else in your bed with you for whatever reason…cough, I’m not going to judge, it’s fine. No, no I’m sure you were just sleeping and it’s just a friend, you’re right! Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me ;)

…where am I? Oh yes:

Middle of the night, you wake up feeling a bit chilly, you must’ve pushed the duvet off earlier on. Don’t worry, just grab for it…where is it? Where’s the duvet gone? You fully wake up in a state of panic, the lovely dream long forgotten.

There it is. Your partner in slumber has it and they’ve completely enveloped themselves in it so that human and bedding have become one and subsequently leaving none for you. Great.

Now you have two choices: either be cold until they roll over and inadvertently give you a corner, or you can WAKE THEM THE HELL UP and get some quilt back. Personally, I’ve always been more of a suffer in silence kind of girl.

Safe to say, these people are some of the most annoying you could possibly share your sleeping hours with.

I myself know a duvet hog. He is one of the most territorial keepers of the duvet I have ever met, dude’s definitely guilty of this most disruptive of crimes. It doesn’t help that he’s also very strong so there’s no way I could try and yank a corner of that sweet, comforting duvet back.

In the morning, when he asks if I slept well, I smile and say ‘of course’ despite my freezing tootsies. I return the question and the answer is always a smile and a nod.

I don’t mind though, I enjoy his company.

Before we drift off, we tend to lapse into a comfortable silence of two people who don’t need to say anything in order to be close. It’s refreshing and relaxing.

I imagine people can harbour a certain degree of resentment towards their personal duvet hogs but I quite like mine. I like the late nights spent talking and laughing and then drifting off to sleep together. I like waking up in the morning and knowing that there’s another round of happy conversation waiting once we’re both awake.

And I suppose I don’t mind waking up in the night and feeling a bit cold if it means I can have all these other things.

My best friend is a duvet hog, but I wouldn’t change him for the world.

Now playing: The Blackout – We Live On