Storytelling Sunday-in the candlelight

Go back ten years or so and I am eleven.

It is dark outside and we are in the week leading up to Christmas day. 

The house is full of Christmas, lights twinkling at the windows, holly bough on the door and three advent calendars lined up in the kitchen. 

The smells of christmas come from the kitchen. Mince pies on the side and the cupboards groaning with cheeses, crisps, nuts and ingredients to make chocolate puddings. 

We are bubbling with excitement for christmas, for the traditions, for Santa Claus. The boxes of oranges are by the back door, in preparation to make Christingle candles. 

It is a Saturday evening and we have had a cosy day of reading our favourite christmas stories and decorating the tree. The lounge smells of pine needles already and we are giggling as we tell each other where were have hidden the chocolates on the tree. 

After dinner we crowd into the lounge and embark on a funny tradition we do most weekends through advent. 

We one at a time choose one of the candles around the room. 

They are a fun collection. Some are in lanterns, some have patterns that show through when lit, some are huge and fat, some are tall and thin. 

They are scattered about the room during advent, resting on the hearth by the fire or on the windowsill. 

We all pick our candles, all five of us. We have our favourites. The box of matches is taken out and one at a time we light them. 

My Dad walks over to the lamps and goes around turning them off one by one. 

The room is now dark except for the twinkling of the lights on the Christmas tree and the five candles flickering on the table. 

We sit there quietly, staring at the flames, remarking how lovely it looks-the lounge lit by candlelight. 

After a time in the stillness my Mum starts up the candle song, "see the candlelight, see it burning bright, we don't need it while we're sleeping, blow it out at night". 

Puff. 

The smoke rises in tendrils to the ceiling and we are left with the fairy tree lights and the almost tangible magic of family at Christmas. 

Today I am joining in with the lovely Sian and her storytelling Sunday. 

Sian, thank you for making storytelling a joy these last few years. Thank you for the connections you have weaved across the web as we have shared the threads of our lives with each other in the most organic and natural of ways. I feel blessed to have been a part of this meme for so long. 

Storytelling Sunday- the journey

When I was seven my family and I moved to the other side of the world for a year.

We moved to the Falkland Islands. 

I remember being told about the Falklands and not being able to get my head around the concept of it. As a seven year old I forgot that Britain was an island too and imagined that as soon as we stepped out into the Falklands, the island would tip like a plastic toy in a bath tub!

That year on the little island is probably the most magical of my childhood. 

I remember our school which had just 24 pupils. I remember walking to school one day in a blizzard and my four year old brother being bowled along the road by the force of the wind. 

I remember wearing walking boots everywhere, about travelling around in the land rover and visiting the nearest "town" 30 miles away on a road with ditches along each edge.

I remember not being able to get most foods. Of drinking UHT milk for a year. I remember how lemonade was saved just for Sunday because it was so expensive. 

I remember school trips in helicopters and aeroplanes. Holidays to deserted corrugated iron houses where we sat two feet away from penguins. 

I remember watching dolphins jump either side of our boat and seals and sea lions bathing on the rocks.

I remember the endless blue sky and the trees that were bent horizontal because of the force of the wind.

I have hundreds of stories of our time there. 

Enough to make a series.

My memories are the vivid and colourful recollections of a child. 

As a family we often talk about our time there. We have lots of things around our house to remind us of the Falkland Islands but perhaps the most precious is our bell. 

There were many skilled craftsmen out on the Island and sadly there was still clear evidence of the war. Before we left my parents commissioned a craftsman to carve into this old bomb shell and make it into a bell. The map of the island is inscribed into one side and our family name and dates into the other.

A Naval officer who was a family friend made the beautiful red and white rope with which to ring the bell. 

For years it hung by the stairs and was rung when it was time for lunch or supper. Now it hangs in our porch, to be rung enthusiastically by my Granny whenever she enters the house. 

It is precious as an object in itself and precious in the memories it stirs of that journey to the other side of the earth.  

Today I am joining in with the lovely Sian and her Storytelling Sunday- pick your precious. Do pop over to visit other bloggers and read about their precious things. Thank you Sian for the prompt about holidays and journeys. It was just what I needed to tell this story! 

Storytelling Sunday- a precious place

I didn't have a precious for this storytelling Sunday. 
Most of my "precious" items are sitting at home on bookcases and in boxes. 
Instead I looked through my photos and this one taken just yesterday jumped out at me. 

I don't think I've ever been overly attached to one place.
There has never been a location I have become distinctly nostalgic for. Boarding school is perhaps the place I regard most fondly. I have moved house enough times to know that location isn't all that matters.

That said, if I ever was to view a location with rose tinted spectacles I think it would be Durham.
Funny that. Just one year and this place has become precious.
This funny little "city" high on the hill enclosed by river.
It's beautiful and characterful but I don't think I can pin point it's preciousness to that.

I think its precious because I have been so happy here.
I have found the best, funniest, sweetest people to share life with and next year share a house with.
Despite all my complaining about work, Durham represents the start of a a degree, the start of asking "big" academic questions. (or in my case, questions like what King we are now studying, having totally lost track of what was going on in the lecture. Don't ask.)

Durham is also the first place which I can call "mine". The first location that has no real connection to Mum or Dad or any other member of my family. It's the place I have chosen to set up a life in for three years.

It's also a place I chose, I prayed about, I put into God's hands and he was faithful in providing a church, friendship and peace.  That has to be counted as precious.

So yes, a bit mushy, and a tad cheesy but this funny little city has, out of the blue, become one of my precious things.

Today I am joining in with the lovely Sian and her Storytelling Sunday- pick your precious. Do pop over to visit other bloggers and read about their precious things.

Storytelling Sunday- The face made of paint

This beautiful painting hangs above my desk at home.
It is big. Maybe A0 size.
It is painted on lovely watercolour paper with soft torn edges.
It is tacked to my wall with pins.
It is a painting of me.

This was a painting a friend of mine did for her art a-level. She took a photo of me with quite high contrast and then painted it using this effect. I think it is in response to another artist. She did this with eight other photos of different people in different colours and then arranged them in a massive grid.
It was beautiful and I always admired her talent.

At the end of the year when it was time to take the work down from the walls, she rolled her piece up and gave it to me.

I am so grateful that she did. I am honoured to not only have a painting from her but a custom work of me. The colours are wonderful and brighten up my room. If you look closely you can see where the different paints have run, some glossy, some matte. If you look even closer you can still see the pencil lines.

I like to have it above my desk because it reminds me of the kindness of my friend. I like the symbol of my face surrounded by colour and art. To me it represents that side of me that is creative.

One day I think I will get a big black frame for it and a large mount and have it permanently hanging in my house.

This painting is precious.

Today I am joining in with the lovely Sian and her Storytelling Sunday. Pop on over to visit other bloggers and read their stories about precious things.

Storytelling Sunday- The doll with the chipped face.

She has sat on my book shelf as long as I can remember.
Somewhere along the line I must have been given her as a present but I don't recall it.

She hasn't really got a story.
Just that she has sat there as an ornament. When I was little I used to open her up and get all the little ladies out and line them up.

The joints squeaked back then when I opened them. Now she is very stiff to open and one little lady won't even come out.

I used to like peering at their faces and looking at the different expressions. It was never a toy to be played with for a long time. Just opened up, lined up and put back together again.

I don't think it is valuable. Her chipped face tells of a few hard knocks.

I like her though. I like her enigmatic expression and the fact that I can't remember where or when she came from.
She is just there. Gazing from my bookshelf.
She is precious.

Today I am joining in with the lovely Sian and her Storytelling Sunday. Pop on over to visit other bloggers and read their stories about precious things.

Storytelling Sunday- Precious letters

Why is it that we can delete a text or an email in one stroke but throwing away a letter is so hard? 

For nearly nine years my Mum has written to me. Away at boarding school, on my gap year and now at uni. 

At home there is a stack of letters held together by a bull dog clip. Not all of them are there. Some have got lost behind beds, under trunks or in house moves but the majority remain. 

This stack is just from my time at uni. Most weeks I get a letter. Sometimes it comes with chocolate, sometimes with post from home. Often on its own. 

I love them. Even though the news is old, even though we have shared this stuff on the phone each day, she has taken the time to sit down and write. Nearly always in green pen.

They are funny, they sometimes contain hand drawn pictures. They connect me to home. 

Letters are special. This stack, like the stack at home, is precious to me. It says, I thought of you, I took the time to sit down and write and draw, this is for you.

And sometimes when a letter doesn't quite cut it I get something like this...

Yes, these are precious. 

I am joining in with Sian's storytelling Sunday. This year we are sharing what is precious. Pop on over, read some tales, join in. 

Storytelling Sunday- Precious moments

This photo is precious to me. 
It wasn't taken in a fancy studio with great lighting and perfect clothes. It was taken in a field. 
It wasn't taken by a professional but by the boys brother. 
But you know what? It is more precious because of these things. 

I begged the boy for a photo shoot and he grudgingly complied. Because he knew what it meant. He knew I needed to capture the first day of the new year with him. 

We took the photos in the boys favourite place in the world. We ran up the field to capture the sun as it sunk behind the hill. We laughed with his brother as we posed and our hands went numb. His brother took such wonderful pictures that afternoon. He really is a very talented photographer. 

There is a lot of meaning in this photo for me.  The boy and I are standing together in the midst of uni life, no longer teenagers but not really feeling grown up. 
A captured moment at the cusp of the old year and the start of the new. 
A moment where we took photos as family and laughed as we did it. 
A moment which the boy obliged me in doing. 
A moment captured. 
Us, A&T. 
As we are in January 2013.
Just being.  

The moment captured in this photo is oh so precious to me.

This post is part of the lovely Sian's Storytelling Sunday. This year we are focusing on things that are precious to us. 

Storytelling Sunday- The story of the video calls

My mother is not very technologically minded so when I first suggested to her that we tried FaceTime when I went away to uni she was sceptical.

(Facetime is like Skype for those of you who share my mothers disposition regarding technology. Skype for those who really don't know is a free video call system!)

"How will it work?" she enquired.
After trying and failing to explain such things as fibre optics we gave up and instead gave her a demonstration at home.
She gleefully ran around the house with the laptop video calling me on the i-pad in the kitchen.
So we could safely say it was a hit!

We resolved to use video chat at uni.
Well, Mr Jobs, I owe you a lot!


My Mum has gone from bafflement to amazement to downright cross when we now can't "facetube" as she calls it!

If I am honest though I do share her excitement. There is nothing better than sitting down at my desk and calling home and being able to see them all crowded around the screen at the kitchen table, the Aga in the background.

It has become a bit of a family affair. You see on a phone it is a one on one conversation but when we video call the whole family gets involved. My mother invariably takes up most of the screen or doesn't quite get in because she has forgotten that you have to look at the camera. I am treated to ten minutes talking to her left eye!

My dad will often join in next to her and my brothers will sometimes poke their heads round. Even Granny has joined in the fun though whether she quite "got" it remains to be seen! It has been brilliant to literally "show" my family my decorated bedroom or out of the window and they in turn can show me things around the house.

But you know what is especially nice? Getting to FaceTime this man as well... swoon.

Yes, one day in my dotage my grandchildren will laugh at me for being old fashioned enough to video call but for now. It is magic my friends! Who needs a phone I ask you?!

This story is told in conjunction with the lovely Sian and her storytelling Sunday. Do stop by to send her some love and read the other fab stories.

Storytelling Sunday- The story of the indoor washing line

You may remember when I was packing up to go to uni, see here, that I took with me all manner of things. Crockery, folders, highlighters, saucepans and pegs to name a few! I know, the pegs were a long shot but last week I congratulated myself on thinking outside of the box.

You see, when you are a student, money and laundry are both big issues. The washing machine costs £1.80. ( A serious source of annoyance because you have to find a 20p and a 10p. Irritating.) As a student I am faced with an age old dilemma. Do I do a wash each week, stay clean but spend quite a bit of money on washing or save my washing, smell for a few days but save more money in the long run?

I decided neither of those options was so good so bought a few more pairs of socks and tights etc to tide me over for ten days. £1.80 every ten days is much more reasonable!

I didn't however think this through. After stuffing the machine with my laundry and then lugging the clean wet clothes back to my room I stood facing my clothes airer wondering what had got into me?

How on earth was it going to fit?
There was no way ten days of dirty clothes, bedsheets and two towels were going to fit on a small airer and get dry.

After forty five minutes of trying to squeeze socks around my wooly jumpers I had to concede that there was just no way that everything was going to get dry. The bedsheets were hanging over the wardrobe door, the towel was dripping limply on the peg and there was still half a basket full of clothes.

It was then that inspiration dawned.

I had packed string. I had also packed pegs.

Oh hello indoor washing line.

Yes, it may have been a potential hazard and yes I had difficulty getting into bed that night but I had clean, dry laundry and that my friends makes a girl happy!

This story comes from Sian's storytelling Sunday. Do pop on over to Sian's lovely blog to hear stories from around the world.

The story of the biscuits in the post.

Once upon a time there was girl (woman? scary thought!) 

Exactly a week ago she packed up her belongings. The books, the quilts, the clothes, the mugs, the kitchen sink. 

She traveled a very long way north before arriving in a city on a hill. A city with a towering cathedral and a medieval castle. A city where they still sell hot bovril for 80p and where the locals still call you "pet". 

She started her life at Uni and loved it. 

She met lovely people and bonded over cups of tea and Downton Abbey. 

She explored the old city and decided that she definitely needed more jumpers. 

She took part in crazy traditions and college fun.

One day she got an email from the porter. She had a package. A parcel waiting in reception. Could she come and get it? 

The girl dropped her laptop (just an expression!) and galloped downstairs to find a large square box waiting. 

She had no idea who it was from. Several possibilities ran through her mind but she was left baffled. 

It was a heavy box. 

She raced it up to her bedroom and tore it open. Inside was another box and this box...

Was full of biscuits! 

She knew immediately who it was from. Her godparents have an awesome sense of humour and what better present for a uni student! 

This story is part of Sians Storytelling Sunday. 

Thank you for all your kind comments, Facebook messages, emails etc. I feel so blessed to have had so much support from my blog friends as I begin my new life at uni. Posts may be less frequent as I find my feet here but I have so much to share! Thanks for stopping by again after a bit of a break on my part!

Storytelling Sunday- The story of the games list

We are a a family who like playing games.

Monopoly, cluedo?  I hear you ask.

Oh yes and thirty others. We do games in a big way in the beach household. We research new games, visit games shops and pick up games in charity shops. 

There are the new games, the old favourites, the games that are dust covered, the ones that have been played so often the box is falling apart.

Our evenings in the holiday are often spent around a games board. The big debate comes before this though; what game shall we play? Naturally we have our own favourites. There are some games that two of us love but the other three hate, games that are played often because we all enjoy them, games that seldom come out because certain people raise such a stink about them!

Our method for choosing used to be done by vote; everyone picks one game and then you list all the games chosen in order of preference. This worked pretty well until we were playing the same games over and over again because they were the only ones getting the average vote.

Around nine months ago the middle brother and my Dad came up with a new solution. How about we made it our mission over the course of a year to play every game we had. Every game that was in the house we would play. No arguing, no voting. Everyone would get to play their favourite game but everyone would also have to play their least favourite. 

So, the middle brother wrote the now infamous games list. Beside each game was a number, 33 in total! When the time comes to choose a game, the brother whips out his phone and uses random number generator to decide what we will play next. The choice cannot be disputed; the phone has decided!

We have ticked off quite a few games in this time. Besides each game is a little note of who won and at the bottom is a tally recording our game wins to date. (You wouldn't have guessed the boys are sports fans would you?) So far my total is...one. one game won. Not great really!

It is a funny little tradition in our house. A way for us to have great family time. Many a laugh is shared around the games table and many the argument too!  The summer is coming to a close and for a while that crumpled list will go away until we all come together again- probably at Christmas!

This story was told in conjunction with Sian's Storytelling Sunday!

Storytelling Sunday- The bleachers

Hi

Today I am joining in with the lovely Sian for her storytelling Sunday. This month Sian posted a suggested theme of "summer lovin". Well that couldn't be more apt for what I wanted to write about and surprise.. it has nothing to do with the boy! (although that is always a tempting topic to write about)

When in America last week we visited a baseball game. This man is passionate about sport. Cricket is his favourite, but anything with a ball will tend to win him over.

As soon as we got to America he found the sport channel and sat avidly watching the baseball league.

Because we were in the country and because we knew both my brothers would enjoy it, we travelled to Pertersburg to watch a game. In previous years we had been to big games in DC and in NYC but I was told by my parents that this would be different...

We would be sitting on the bleachers.

So we got to the ground and like they said it was a small club ground, close to the action, not many spectators. And there to our left were the white, tall, metal bleachers.

Well, I had to fight an urge to either sing Taylor Swift ( Points to you if you know the reference) or run to the top and sing "those su-u-umer niiii-hiiights" ala Danny from Grease.

I am an English girl. I have watched countless school matches in my wellies, by the pavilion or in the seats at the grounds. Never have I sat on the bleachers. The temptation to sing summer lovin was therefore quite high!

Naturally we sat at the top and watched the game as the sun sank below the clouds. It was such a glorious evening and we looked brilliantly out of place, particularly when my dad started clapping the opposing team. It was definitely a home crowd I can tell you! There was something magical about sitting on the seats that are referenced in so many movies and songs. I felt like a high school student I can tell you! Bring on glee!

You know what they don't tell you about those bleachers though? They are so uncomfortable!

Thanks for stopping by!

Storytelling Sunday -For the love of Harry Potter

Hooray it's the first sunday of the month- July no less! where has the time gone!
That means it is storytelling sunday with Sian.

Sit back, grab a cup of tea..off we go!
The other day I was sitting with a small child listening to them read. He was a confident reader aged eight ploughing through the fourth Harry Potter.
Now I am a bit of a Potter lover so enquired as to how many he had read.
"Oh, I have read the three before this" he said excitedly.
"And will you read the fifth afterwards?" I asked.
He nodded.

It hit me then how odd it was sitting with this little boy who was enjoying Harry Potter for the first time, who would finish one book and then simply walk to the school library and pick the next battered copy off the shelf.

A wave of nostalgia hit me. I remembered being eight and reading the books and then waiting impatiently for the next in the series to come out. Knowing it could be over a years wait. I remembered hearing snippets of the newest Potter book as the release date drew nearer. Then the day coming and going off to the bookshop to join the queue of eager people, desperate to get their hands on the next book in the saga. Feeling that shiny new hard cover, anticipating just how large this book would be!

I remembered taking the new book home and curling up on the sofa to read it. We would take it in turns in our family. A different bookmark for each person. We'd whisper about the plot, ask leading questions, gauging how far the other had got. Then the discussions around the dinner table, exclamation, delight and fury at the twisting plot lines. Each year for my birthday I would recieve the next installment in audio book form- first as casettes and then as cds.

All those memories came back in a flash and in a way I was sorry that this little boy wouldn't have that same excitement, that same feeling of being part of a worldwide anticipation.

Exploring Harry Potter for the first time is magical. I told that to the little boy as well as the above story. He looked at me like I was an alien from a far distant planet.

Who cares! I was there. I was part of the original potter generation.
Children these days! It wasn't like that when I was young!

Thanks for stopping by

P.S For a chance to win some crafty kits, look no further than my giveaway below or here

Storytelling Sunday- I blanked the Queen

Hello Friends

Welcome to another Storytelling Sunday over at Sians blog. Do stop by and hear some amazing stories coming from all over blogland.

As it is jubilee weekend over here in good old England, I thought I would share a short story of my brush with royalty.

It is important to know- and it may surprise you- I was a SHY child. As in, I was the child who would cling to my mothers skirt quite literally.
Anyhow at the age of five it just so happened that the Queen was going to pass through our village and all the children in my school would come out and wave their flags.

I still remember lining up with my friends and writing down on the board what colour I thought the Queen would be wearing. I remember being disappointed she wasn't in purple (my favourite colour for many years.) I remember being given a small flag and being told to wave it when we saw her pull up in the car.

So we were all there lined up. I am not a big person and I was quite small as a child so naturally I was right at the front. I was happily waving my flag with the rest of my class as Her Majesty walked along exchanging pleasantries, when she stopped at me.

I was wearing a lovely soft velvet hat ( see photo) with large flowers which I liked a lot. The Queen looked down at me and told me what a nice hat I was wearing. And we have to remember this is a lady who knows a thing or two about head wear!

I stood there saying...NOTHING.
I blanked the Queen
No kidding.

I mean I was a shy child, I did not talk to people I didn't know, the fact that she was the Queen of Britain didn't change anything!

After I blanked her she persevered and asked how old I was.
I simply held up five fingers.

It's funny how this memory sticks with me. It's also funny how moments after our encounter the Queen was being driven away from our village and drove right past my mum pushing my brothers in the pram. They waved to her and she waved back.

I am in awe of the work our Queen does. Her Jubilee is such a special occasion and I am so excited to celebrate it!

Thank you for stopping by

Abi x

Storytelling Sunday- The Boiler and the Mouse

Hi

Yep, it's that time again. Seriously, I count down to storytelling sunday! Sian, it was such a great idea. Thank you.

This is a story from yesterday.
Picture the scene if you would. The family is all home for the bank holiday weekend. This includes the youngest brothers girlfriend and the boy.

Our house is pretty crazy at the best of times. With seven people? It's brilliant!

So.. our two cats were stalking the boiler all morning. The intellectually challenged cat tried to fit down the side of it, with the airer in the way. One dusty and squashed cat later, he decides this is not such a good idea. The clever cat sits and watches.

We all have a faint idea that there might me something hiding behind said boiler.

At that moment mum moves over to take the airer and littlest brother cries.

"mum, there's a mouse on it!"

Mum, oblivious is lifting the airer.."where?? I can't see the mouse!"

 In one swift movement me and the littlest brothers girlfriends are up on chairs screaming "mouse, mouse!" "ahhh mouse." in an incredibly melodramatic way. Mum is still puzzled, the two brothers and the boy are leaning over the boiler to try and see said mouse and Dad is asking what on earth is happening.

The noise in the kitchen is incredible. Mousey has retreated behind the boiler. The stupid cat has decided to flee the scene and my Dad has reached over to shut the backdoor to which he was greeted with more shrieks... "don't shut the door, that's how the mouse will get out! Don't block the exit!"

Mousey's tail comes back into view. At this point the boy has found a torch and mother is armed with a wooden spoon- what she thinks she will do with this spoon I don't know.

My Brother then realises that the torch has a magnetic retractable stick. He uses this to try and poke mousey only to realise the stick has attracted to the boiler. Slick.

Whilst he is trying to pull it off, me and the girlfriend are still shrieking, the boy is crying that he can see it and mother issues a sceam...

"My cake, my cake in the oven!!!" The cake is rescued from the oven in the nick of time smoke starting to appear.

The boiler is now surrounded. The boy on one side with the torch, the brother with the spoon and mother with a plastic tub.

We wait.

Mousey does not come out.

They try shaking the boiler. Nothing. They try being quiet. Nothing.

The mouse capturing team leave their stations and the girlfriend and I descend from the chairs. All day we are ready but nothing happens.

This story doesn't really have an ending because as we speak...

Mousey is still behind the boiler. We think.

Thanks for stopping by

Abi

Storytelling Sunday- The story of the reluctant poser

Hi

It's the first sunday of the month and yep, you guessed it, it's Sians storytelling sunday! hooray!

These are two stories, which do have a small link, (I promise)

I am very aware that I often post pictures of the boy and they look lovely and finished and nice. Well the previous 20 are not like that so here documented is a typical conversation the boy and I will have on a typical dog walk and the resulting photos

Him: "You've brought the camera."

Me: "Yes." (Why wouldn't I have my camera?)

Him: Audible sigh

Me: " You love it really!"

Him "mmmmh"

Me: " Look around please"

Me: " seriously? the dog or me?!"

Him: "ok" Poses " better?"

Me: "yep, thank you!" "hang on!, we're not done!"

Me: " Just walk away from me and when I call your name just smile."

Him: finding this all very amusing.

Me: " just smile will you?!"

Me: " Oh my word, not with the chuckie!!!"

Him: " here, give me the camera, I want to take some photos."

Me:  Throwing the ball for the dog "Yes!! Did you see that throw," waving the chuckie in front of him. " You didn't just take a photo of that?"

Me: "YOU DID!"

Him: gleefully holding onto the camera.

Me: "ok, take a picture of both of us."

Him " Oh I hate this whole hold the camera in front of you thing."

Me: "Yeah well your tallest, I always chop our heads off."

Him: " Now it looks like you are pulling my neck off."

Me: "oops, yeah let me hold it."

Me: "Finally." "Hang on, T." He looks round

"Got it!"

Could there be a more reluctant poser?!


The second story concerns something the boy told me the other day. "Darling" he said, " A friend of mine showed a picture of me and some others to a girl in her lecture." "This girl asked my friend, whether the boy in the picture (me) was famous?" "My friend looked very surpirsed and said, no that is just one of the boys who does Geography in the first year."

Turns out this girl follows my blog and had seen pictures of the boy on here and therefore recognised him! If you are that person, please please comment because that is the funniest, craziest most rad thing that has happened in a while!

Thanks for stopping by. Please do check out some more stories on Sians blog because there are some amazing tales out there!

Abi