Hola, mon petite amigos! (Somewhere out there, a linguistic person is having a fit, and I take pride in that.)
This week has been a busy one, when I’ve not been hating my life working as an adult, I’ve been packing ready to move. The amount of spiders I have found taking refuge in my flat is unreal. I should have made them all pay rent. They have no regard for personal space either, I moved some of my uni paperwork and one just went ahead and crawled up my bare leg. I was so traumatised afterwards that I stopped packing completely, so a last minute packing rampage seems like the best way forward.
Apart from being fondled by a spider and making a fool out of myself at work, I also went outside by choice! That is actually a miracle these days. To be fair though, most of my reasons for going outside have been stripped from me. Friends, family and all forms of social life are none existent in these wastelands.
Until last Friday, when Ian and I went into Manchester with his friend, Alex. We decided to go on a day trip since I’ve always wanted to try a place called Junkyard. It’s basically a crazy golf place for 18+, because it’s designed for you to go into drunk. Much to everyone I know’s surprise, I actually made it there sober. This was mostly due to the drinks they sell costing an arm, a leg and your soul.
We did however, buy a Coke but it tasted like the syrup had run out and Alex had some water, which he described as ‘tasting expired.’ The thing is, all three of us were too awkward to say anything, so we gulped them down before heading to the course.
I was a little worried after reading reviews online saying that the course was too short. And I guess it would have been, if I was any good at golf. Basically, you can choose from 3 courses, each with different themes. There was a horror carnival one, a jungle one, and a junkyard one. Since the horror one was all booked up, we did the jungle one.
My problem is, I don’t care about winning. I just wanted to achieve the most difficult route possible, which meant one of the turns Ian managed to get his ball in the hole (Oo-er) in 2 hits, whereas it took me 8 hits simply because I wanted to get the ball over a bridge and down a tube. I succeeded in the end (Yay me!) but that was mostly down to Alex blocking the path with his golf-stick-thing.
Everything looked really nice. Though I went for a photo and leaned on a panther, which almost knocked it off the wood it was balanced on. I acted cool and nobody noticed, which is how I get through most of my mistakes.
The entire place was designed to be Insta worthy, I discovered as I made Ian take pictures of me with each course. In one of the photos I’m not sure which is scarier, the spider or my chins.
The course was also pretty funny, with each little section being named after a song to match the theme. My favourites were ‘We found love in a soapless place.’ and ‘Bitch, don’t kill my tribe.’
I do think they need to come up with a better system for booking though. There was a couple booked after us and we ended up rushing because they were good at golf and ended up waiting for us to finish before they could go, which made us rush. I think we could have spent a lot more time there if it weren’t for the pressure of the classic British ‘feeling bad’ for them waiting.
After we had finished we went for dinner at Spoons, because what is any day out in England without a trip to spoons. They now do Mac and Cheese balls which are actually delicious. Like, top tier culinary experience.
So yeah, last week I went outside! This week, I probably won’t simply because I need to pack and clean the flat. For some reason the estate agents have arranged for people to look around the flat, even though our contract doesn’t run out until November. Seems a bit early to me, but hey ho. It just means I have to clean this pig sty sooner rather than later. Wish me luck!
See you next week!