A clucking good day!

Immi's hen day is here! Who would have thought? A great chance to catch up with school friends and chill out, and the perfect weekend for it.
I met Marie and Jessie in Rosudgeon and we drove to Falmouth via a champagne stop in Asda, to meet the other hens at St Michael's Spa. It was fab... a day of sunshine and laughter. We started by drinking champagne in the bar, followed by swimming, sunbathing and sandwiches. Before we knew it, the time had come to head back to Penzance to pick up our Thai takeaway, then laden with food we reassembled at the in-laws to eat, drink and be very merry!
We had a great time dressing Immi up, playing silly games, dancing, and reminiscing about the good days when we were always skinny and mostly drunk... We caught up on all the jobs and boys gossip, drank endless glasses of champagne, and just had a good old giggle with girls we've known for ages.
The day couldn't have been any better!

Bristol by foot

After work on Friday we were enticed by the sun and Cambodian visitors towards the Avon Gorge hotel, where we sipped cider overlooking the Clifton Suspension bridge. We then decided to eat at the Thali cafe in Clifton, and walked home via The Bell on Jamaica Street, leaving the car behind. Sunday was another fine day, giving us the opportunity to trek across North Bristol again to fetch the car.
We started in Montpelier, near the Star and Garter pub, passed the graffiti on Ashley Road and back onto Jamaica Street. This part of Bristol has recently begun to refer to itself as 'The Cultural Quarter', which is a name not entirely undeserved. Stokes Croft is an area full of old run down buildings which have found new life as brothels, squats and studios; large warehouse style nightclubs providing the finest of Bristol's underground music scene; independent shops, eateries, bars and galleries; and some of the best off licenses you could hope to come across, serving way into the night. Stokes Croft even has a Post Office which has a cash point, sells beer, and is open past 10pm on a weekend. Graffiti plays a large part in the culture of Stokes Croft, as the huge Banksy mural and designated graffiti wall (or 'outdoor gallery'), encourage many to make their mark, and the urban landscape is constantly changing. Sadly, this week saw an incongruous addition to it, with the opening of a Tesco on Stokes Croft, much to the dismay of locals who voted against its presence.
Emerging at the other end of Jamaica Street we hit the edge of Broadmead shopping centre, the BRI hospital and continued on to Park Row. Ahead of us was the imposing and quite magnificent Wills Memorial building, home to Bristol University's law students and many of my memories from student days. Next to the building we discovered that the museum was still open, showing the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition. We wandered in to take a look.
Back out onto the Clifton Triangle, and up another memory lane, as I used to live on Park Place, between the Quinton House pub, the old dilapidated cathedral and the barbers. From here we passed various student halls, finally reaching Clifton Village.
Just walking distance from Stokes Croft we felt in a completely different space, as Clifton is a beautiful array of Georgian terraces, cafes and rich people. Not much in the way of graffiti here.
It's amazing how diverse Bristol is, with a different outlook on each corner. The best way to take it in is on foot, especially as covering this distance by public transport would probably take all day!

Hartland

To Devon, to celebrate a birthday. Pit packed 20 of his friends into a 'camping barn' in Hartland, which is as basic but not as charming as it sounds! We arrived on Friday night, reorganised the furniture and got stuck into the beers. Saturday brought sunshine and a trip to the beach. In true holiday mode, those crazy enough to want to surf the freezing seas finally got their feet wet at about 4pm. The rest of us variously lounged, slept, walked or watched football. I was in the walking crew, and was delighted to come across cliffs covered in my favourite flora: gorse. I absolutely love the way it smells, looks and scratches. It reminds me of home and lazy Summer days, of a childhood spent on clifftops walking dogs.
We regrouped for a pub dinner and headed back to our barn for another drinking session. The only room with any furniture to rearrange in the first place was the kitchen, which now had two plastic benches and carpet on the floor. It reminded us all of being back in student halls, the level of noise and alcohol consumption only aiding the memory. At 12.30pm the following day, when nearly all of us were still asleep, we learned that kick out time was 10am. Oops.
After a quick clean up operation we headed back to the beach for pasties. It was a good weekend, but I really must be getting old now, because as great as it was to revisit Uni life for a weekend, my favourite part of getting out of Bristol this time had to be the gorse.

Mina Road Park

Emerging from 15 hours sleep, I was in need of sustenance in the form of food and sunlight. Destined for the City Farm in St Werburghs, we were disappointed to find the grass off limits as it intended to grow. So with empty pockets and stomachs alike, we changed our route towards the nearest access to food and light: Sunni's supermarket on Mina Road, which accepts card payment. We purchased our cider, sandwiches and snacks and crossed the road to Mina Road Park, a peculiar place.
The park seems to be in bit of a ditch, surrounded by roads and houses, with an unusual number of metal bars. There are many trees providing little needed shade considering the climate, and an awful lot of mud. We found a relatively dry and bright patch, and settled down.
In the time it took us to eat our lunch we saw the park fill up. First came a crew of Spaniards setting up camp within a metre of us, bringing saucepans of food from a nearby house and playing the didgeridoo. Next came my ASBO neighbour with her two dogs and argumentative boyfriend. They were soon followed by some scruffy looking youngsters who proceeded to tie a rope to a tree and walk the slackline. Then came another wave of Spanish friends, bringing bongos. A few more circus types with clubs to juggle, then two girls with fire sticks who started practising their dance. Finally, a man with a small sound system arrived.
We had been unwittingly engulfed by the Werburgh festival vibe.

Street shopping and Glastonbury torr-ing

The start of March has been cold but beautiful. Spring is in the air and it feels good! To celebrate, I'm planning mini-breaks and new wardrobes. Saturday was spent whiling away the hours on Park Street, picking up bargain jeans and beautiful birthday presents. Sunday was a bit special.
We started by heading to Clark's Village in Street, which is not an outlet store, but an outlet village. And it doesn't just sell shoes. Every shop had about 70% off, from Calvin Klein to Billabong, and I walked away with a pair of jeans from the United Colors of Benetton which only set me back £7!
We didn't stay long though, as the sun was shining, air bracing and sky blue. It felt like the first time I'd seen the blue sky for months, so as we were near Glastonbury, we headed up the Tor. It was a very easy climb, but this didn't stop the views from being quite spectacular. Green as far as the eye could see. It was windy and cold, so with dreams of spending the rest of Sunday in a sheltered sunny beer garden, we did the right thing and went to visit relatives in South Bristol.
There's a lot to be said for staying in and watching films at the weekend. Aside from the nightmares I got after watching 'Splice', I managed to catch up with lots of people, buy two new pairs of jeans for only £22, plan weekends away, cut hair, breathe fresh air and gain brownie points... All in a weekend.

Sensory Somerset

I don't know where I went last weekend, but I loved it so much I haven't stopped thinking about it since. Luckily for Matt and I, his parents have a lovely house in the middle of nowhere (nowhere is not really a good name for Somerset), and they are away for weeks. We pounced on the opportunity to while away a weekend in the countryside, and it was wonderful.
We arrived on Friday night, and I fell asleep on the sofa, waking up in complete disorientation as I found myself in pitch black and near silence. Bristol never gets like that. I was a bit scared. But I soon got used to blissful solitude, emerging from bed at 1pm on Saturday, as we had no clock in the room and there were no city noises to rouse us. We scrambled up the hill behind the house, where we were exposed to breathtaking winds. A walk incorporating smell, touch, sight and sound reminded me that I am actually alive, not just existing to pay the bills. I took delight in the many smells of woodland, gorse and leaves, the softness of moss and the scratchiness of bushes on my legs, the wind whipping around my face and the expanse of space which stretches for miles. It's difficult to describe, but having sea, trees and wildlife around you feels like sustenance for the soul after weeks cycling to work up busy roads from St Paul's to Stoke Bishop.
We ate a huge salad for lunch (at 5pm) and had friends around to pass the evening playing board games and drinking cider. Sunday brought another walk, through woods of silver birch, oak and pine trees, and the cooking and eating of a veggie roast before the drive back to Bristol, to face life and its many emails.
I am now on a quest to escape the city. Luckily, my work experience is mostly in jobs which do not require me to be here for long. I hope I can make it work!

Arnos Vale cemetery

I love visiting cemeteries. I love the stories told there, of lives led and cherished. I love thinking of relatives in years gone by, coming to remember their loved ones and placing flowers on their graves. I love the old headstones, the inscriptions, the lettering, and the moss and lichen that grows on them. I love the idea that people return to the earth, becoming part of the life cycle again. And I love the fact that they are, or should be, peaceful, holy places.
Yesterday I convinced some friends to share in my pastime, as it was a bright and chilly day, and we had an afternoon to spare. So we headed to Arnos Vale.
Unfortunately, this huge, sprawling cemetery has been ruined in parts, by neglect and, this being Bristol, traffic noise. The graves go on for acres, but many have caved in or have been completely overtaken by flora. But we still saw hundreds of graves, finding our namesakes, searching for the oldest we could find (1865) and the newest (2010), the youngest (babies) and oldest people (97) laid to rest in them.
We got very muddy on our travels, and very very cold and hungry, so we didn't stay long, but we had time to pass the memorials for those killed in the Second World War, and take a minute to contemplate the loss of life and what it meant for the families involved.
Visiting cemeteries can offer an opportunity for reflection. This week, as we celebrated my boyfriend's birthday, I lost a great aunty and my friend gave birth to a baby girl. When I'm walking through a cemetery, I can't help but appreciate the people around me, and assess my priorities. Cemeteries can be fascinating, especially if, like me yesterday, you are sharing the company of a talkative, enthusiastic twelve-year-old.