Sunday morning I woke up in Cardiff with a pair of my pants underneath the coffee table.
The morning before I woke up between two sofas.
A lot has happened since we last spoke. So in a four-part special edition of Jaimie’s blog, we’re going to work backwards from now, where I am sitting in front of my laptop, poorly deodorized and almost in the dark.
You will hear in part two about my hospital based exploits, where I am now working on placement, but let’s just say for now that it has been a very long week. Life, death, blood and vomit; the works. Which might go someway to explaining the events of this weekend.
About three weeks ago I was talking to an old friend of mine, someone I know well enough to call a friend but not fantastically well. Probably about 63% well; I’m sure you know what I’m getting up. That sort of well. We were discussing her 2st birthday and her plans, and lo and behold a few days later I receive a facebook invite to said 21st. This isn’t really an interesting story at this point, I realise, unless you have an unhealthy interest in the social minutiae of other people. The curveball I will throw in though is that she is studying at Cardiff Uni.
Apparently Cardiff isn’t anywhere near London, something I would appear not to have realised when I said I would definitely be there. But very occasionally things come together in such a bizarre fashion that fate, if you believe in such a thing, dictates that you have to do it. In this scenario one of my flatmates- the slightly too tall and much too Welsh one- also had a 21st to go to but no means of getting there, and we are both on placement at a hospital which is a good way along the M4, which connects London to Wales. And sometimes, when you’re exhausted, sleep-deprived and bored, saying yes to these random things makes perfect sense. Rather amusingly, I was tasked to collect a gazebo from this friend’s house from her parents, whom I had never met, adding a whole new dimension to the surreality. “Hello, I’m Jaimie, we’ve never met but I’m here to collect a gazebo?” worked surprisingly well.
So on Friday I finished nice and early after splitting my time between running around the hospital doing various quasi-administrative tasks and trying to keep down the lambs (which I firmly believe was in fact patient’s) liver down that I had perhaps unwisely chosen from the hospital canteen for lunch. After a brief inflation of my tyres (I lead such a glamorous lifestyle) we hit the road. Of course, having a female SatNav voice I was immediately sent the wrong way and so we had a brief but altogether rewarding detour around Heathrow Airport. As soon as that small blip was overcome, we tackled the M4 head on. The M4 is the worst road in the world, compounded by the fact that there is a toll on the new Severn Bridge. I was paying the French to get into Wales. I was paying them £5.40, the cheeky gits. Still, I think they would make more money if you had to pay to get out of Wales…not sure how many people actually would pay that amount to get into Wales…
So after a solid three hours of backside numbing boredom I arrived in Cardiff, breaking my neck to go to the toilet after a perhaps unwise large coffee at some god-awful motorway service station somewhere. It made the “Hello after such a long time- here’s a gazebo” introduction a lot easier than I imagined as I belted up the stairs pretty much immediately. The Friday night quickly ended up turning from “I’ll just have a nice quiet night in” to rocking up at someone else’s 21st birthday, meeting a man dressed as Lady Gaga who keep being de-trousered (much to the annoyance of the local constabulary I should add) and my waking up the next morning wedged between two armchairs.
The next day was just as bad- perhaps worse as I travelled about 40 minutes out of Cardiff to visit my Welsh flatmate’s parents (and in the process eating my fourth portion of chips) and somehow managed to get taken shopping and (perhaps unfairly) press-ganged into buying £90 worth of, albeit well needed, clothes. I now own a hoody, which for anyone who has ever seen me in the flesh will know is an interesting change of direction given my moral objection to them. The evening turned out to be just as expensive- especially given the dangerous proximity of an off licence to my friend’s house and the sheer amount if debit card receipts in my wallet. At this point I should mention that Cardiff Uni’s union is huge- I mean, comparable to the size of the moon- and with poor mobile signal and so I spent a good proportion of the evening hopelessly lost, staggering around like a lost lamb on opiates. This probably goes some way to explaining the lack of any photos of me from the weekend- generally I spent most of it lost in some vein or another. Back at the house, the evening was rounded off by checking someone’s foot for shards of glass and offering lifts back to London to people I had never met. Nice.
And so in conclusion, I think my weekend can be summed up by the fact that I went to Cardiff with a gazebo and a Welsh Girl, and came home with two Londoners. Trade win.
You’ll all be glad to know, no doubt, that I am staying on as a blogger for another year and so you can continue following my crazy, crazy life. Oh yeah. But tonight I must dash as I am on night on-call cover at the hospital, which you shall no doubt hear about in part two of these serial adventures…