Friday, 3 July 2009

Welcome To The North

I move back to Newcastle tomorrow, after a week chillax-ing at home in Durham - as a sort of rest stop between the madness of the last 5 months in London and the madness (of a different sort) of surviving the summer at home with my mental friends with very little money (no news yet on that paid placement. It is but a dream, I fear.).

I thought then, this is a good time to do this:

I will miss seeing that fucking Gherkin looming over me, no matter where I am in the city. Bloody stalker.
I will miss Brick Lane. I will miss everything about it - the shopping, the people, the cafes.
I will miss Harrish and Tallulah. Right now, Mopsy (my cat at home, as seen below) is tiding me over in my feline-based-needs (which mostly involve squeezing them for five minutes a day until they fight their way out of my grasp); but there is no such replacement in Newcastle for those bloody cute animals.

I will miss working! LE GASP. I won't miss not getting paid for it...but I will miss the excitement of drawing something up and watching the sample come in, especially if orders are placed - I am looking forward to watching things I've been involved with pop up in Topshop etc, no doubt I will be posting about these events :D

'Course, I'll miss the free clothes too.
I will miss everything being THERE, right on your doorstep.
I'll just miss the atmosphere, dammit.
I never was a fan of London. Much preferred New York (it is probably a good thing I couldn't afford to go on placement there, it is quite possible I would've stayed; uni be damned.)
But 5 months has changed my mind - I've had an awesome time, much of it documented within this blog for all to see.
Good times.

Because you house a large majority of my friends.
And my family.
And my baby nephew, who is currently making silly faces over my mam's shoulder. (Mam; he is not interested in watching the tennis, no matter how much you turn him in the direction of the TV. He is only 14 weeks old.)
I miss Greggs. I don't even eat at Greggs particularly often (although they do a mean egg mayo sarnie, and if I do have a fancy for something in the baked goods arena, it is the go-to place. Obviously.). The thing about Newcastle is, there are literally about 15 Greggs in the city centre. It is not that big of a place. There is no need.

I miss uni. *SHOCK; GASP*
I miss my massive room. And my massive bed. And my massive wardrobe.

I miss things I left up there, thinking I wouldn't want them before now. I blame the fact it was late January when I was packing; I wasn't thinking about the summer months.
I miss my straw hat, which was a TK Maxx treasure for £7 last spring and makes me look like Sienna Miller. I can't decide if that's a good thing.
I miss my brown criss-cross sandals, which are missing a buckle and have done ever since I saw them in that charity shop 2 years ago. I didn't even realise I loved them that much, and yet I can see them going with so many of my outfits now.
I miss charity shopping in Newcastle - I know the good ones, I know when best to go, I know there is not too much competition for the awesome items, and I know that the charity shops here do not always realise what is an awesome find and as such do not necessarily price accordingly....I did not enjoy having to scope out the good ones in London only to find the prices were almost the same as the vintage shops. This is not a good thing; and can only get worse thanks to Mary bloody Portas. 
We do not want out charity shops done up, ta. The reason we currently go there is to have a rummage and find the awesome buried in the crap. Do not ruin this for us, it is one of our pastimes. It is a good way to spend a day. And it is cheap.

I digress.

It's not right when I miss clothes and shoes I've left up there, is it?
Ahh I get em back tomorrow. It's all good.
What else is good? I can finally get my tax back, and sell some more stuff on eBay. And more money means more booking of europe trips/buying of new stuff. Which are both things I enjoy.

I think I've wittered on enough; back to watching the tennis/watching my Mam making a fuss over Lewis. Poor kid.

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