I turned 23 a month and half ago and honestly it scared me - anyone older than 23 will roll their eyes at that I'm sure. I've done some pretty wonderful thing's in my life, but a couple of rather sobering experiences recently have made me realise that it's time for me to get my act together, grab life with both hands and shake out every possible cliche you can imagine.
So I'm documenting this, my 23rd year, and hoping that it will be interesting and eventful enough to make a half decent blog out of.
My 23rd birthday saw me drinking cocktails and falling into thorn bushes in a little seaside town named Benodet in Brittany, France - where I spent my summer.
At 23 am I now too old to have nights like this? One of the many terrifying thoughts that has entered my head since my birthday. Other worries include; how long can I continue dressing the way I want to? And should I really still be doing seasonal work?
(I do intend to dedicate an entire post to my time in Benodet, along with my time spent in Holland the summer before.)
I have been back in Liverpool for a little over a week now and have spent it mainly catching up with friends and scrubbing the last of the dirt from under my fingernails.
Highlights of the week include:
Getting my hair done - yay!
Gin &Tonic's.
Chai Tea.
& a night on the tiles (in a new Topshop playsuit).
All in all it feels good to be home, I'm missing the people I lived and worked with of course, and I'm missing the hectic-ness of the job itsself, but there's a lot to be said for having hot running water and a real bed.
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