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@georgiabrehme
My new favourite C word
I haven’t written in over 6 months. Since my last blog I’d seemed to run out of ideas. Or at least think that my ideas were less important or less funny than when I was away. I felt like my blogs were validated then because I was somewhere interesting doing awesome things. I knew that whatever I was writing about was 100% what I wanted to say. I wasn’t worried about reactions or doubtful of my…
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Clashin'ell! #dontbeanotherbrickinthewall
Cider in the sun to prepare for this festival! #kiwi #NZ #sweetas
#coffee #barista #latteart
Is double irony a thing? If so this is the perfect example #chocolate #teapot #irony #35degrees
It's been too long. BLOG TIME. #writing #inappropriate
Collared shirts are my favourite thing ✌🏼️
To Emma,
Today is one of my best friends birthdays. I've wanted to write about her for a while because I admire her so much, but today is perfect. It's her birthday blog. I met Emma in January 2013 when we were on the Kiwi Experience bus. Before I got on the bus, I knew I would make friends - that's a given when you travel - but I didn't really expect to find a life long friend who I love more than anything. It's strange because we've only actually spent about 30 days together, if that, but it feels like I've known her my whole life. It's definitely true what they say about quality not quantity. She gives the best hugs, the kind of hugs that feel like home, the ones that mean something to you every time. She shared her Reeses Peanut Butter Cups with me on the first day we met. From that day I knew she was going to be a big part of my life. We've done some incredible things together. We've bungeed; sky dived; abseiled in to a cave to look at glow worms; visited a Polynesian spa and seen about a million waterfalls. She's seen me at my most vulnerable (which is a rare sight to see) and she was amazing. She took care of me when I needed her, and her family were some of the kindest people I've met. There are so many amazing things about Emma, that it's slightly ridiculous how much I look up to her. I think it's rare to find someone who you respect, love and idolise so much (sorry for being so sentimental...I feel a bit sick). It's so important for you to love your friends for who they are obviously, but also for how they make you feel about yourself. Emma is ambitious, successful, intelligent, hilarious, confident, non judgemental, honest, caring, beautiful and radiates positive energy. She makes me feel happy and she makes me feel like I have some of those qualities when I'm around her as well. Whenever I'm in doubt or having a quarter life crisis, I always think What Would Emma Do? She's logical, smart and sensible but also human so knows that mistakes happen and will love you no matter what. I've not laughed so much, cried so much or hugged as much than when I've been with her. Some of the best news I've heard since coming home is that she has moved to London. My main priority after pay day is to organise a day out with her and just enjoy being back together again. I can not wait to see my gorgeous, smiley, funny, amazing story telling, sock hating, dry weetabix eating, best friend again. Emma Cheetham, I love you. I hope you're having an amazing birthday and I'll see you soon. xxx
To Emma,
Today is one of my best friends birthdays. I’ve wanted to write about her for a while because I admire her so much, but today is perfect. It’s her birthday blog.
I met Emma in January 2013 when we were on the Kiwi Experience bus. Before I got on the bus, I knew I would make friends – that’s a given when you travel – but I didn’t really expect to find a life long friend who I love more than…
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I need this to be delivered to me right now. #cats
I love books more than anything
The front cover of this Winnie the Pooh book. I remember reading this when I was about 8. Now it's time to reread and fall in love with it again #Winnie #books #love
Dave: the legend
Currently I've got one main man in my life. He has the perfect qualities: affection, the right amount of protectiveness and a great smile. He might have a bit too much hair though. He's my dog, Dave. I've always grown up with cats and dogs. So when I was away for two and a half years without the companionship of a furry friend, I found myself longing for one. I knew I couldn't get a pet whilst traveling, although the thought did cross my mind. So I settled for a Puppy Love board on Pinterest to scroll through when I felt sad, and I fought the urge to dognap any dog I thought had potential to be my best friend. My boss in Wellington brought his son's eight week old sausage dog in to see me. Now you can imagine, after cuddling him for 10 minutes and evading any work I was meant to be doing, I had tears in my eyes, a lump in my throat and a feeling in my heart that I can only assume is what love feels like. Although I got my puppy fix, it didn't help in the long run as it made me miss my dog even more. Now generally, I'm not an animal person. I mean, I do love cats and dogs, I am a vegetarian and of course I oppose any trophy hunting or abuse of animals. But I do feel uncomfortable around rabbits; rodents make me want to throw up; birds are my biggest fear in the world; I will probably never go to a farm again in my life; monkeys are terrifying; how anybody can hold actual rats is beyond me - there isn't enough antibacterial gel in the world that would make me feel ok with that. I once called my brother at midnight to come home to get a frog out of the hallway because my cat decided I needed a fucking present. I have to tell you that this phone call was in tears and was subsequent to the phone call my mum received demanding that she came home from Brighton to get it out of the house. Embarrassingly, my neighbours asked my mum if I was ok a few days later because they had heard me whimpering from next door. Obviously I couldn't just walk past it; I was petrified that it would launch its slimey sticky body at me. I feel ill just thinking about it. I do quite like bears though. In the five weeks I've been home, three weeks have been spent with my Mum, Nan and most importantly Dave (no offence Mum). He's cheeky, loving, funny, devoted, a cure for sadness, the best spooning buddy and a great listener. He's everything I could want in a dog. Sometimes I wish he could talk, but then he probably wouldn't have the Cockney accent I imagine he has... And that would be quite disappointing. He's genuinely excited to see me every time he sees me. I don't know anyone else I can say that about. Dave turnt fifteen about three weeks ago. That's pretty old for a dog. I actually, probably naively, think Dave is immortal. I can't imagine the day when Dave won't be here. So in my head he will live forever but there's a very slight yet prominent feeling in my heart that says maybe he isn't invincible. When I look in to his eyes, once teddy bear brown now fading in to blue because he's losing his sight; when I call his name over and over because his hearing is getting worse and worse, when I stroke his increasingly greying hair that was previously black and brown, when I hear him bark at the door because he can't use the dog flap any more, the more I remember that he's not the puppy he used to be and that he is getting older. When I think about Dave's life, I laugh out loud at how fortunate he has been. He's been so lucky to live the life he has. He's had two awesome brothers Regis and Hector. He's got a family who argue about who loves him the most (my brother Jacob will undoubtedly comment on this saying that Dave is his...) he's been on more seaside holidays than most people I know. It's not been all fun and games for him though. As a puppy a huge dog came up to him and sniffed his bum. He was so frightened he wet himself on the pavement. Obviously I laughed because it was hilarious, but I'm sure he still has nightmares about it to this day. He's got so many idiosyncrasies that make him more interesting to me than most humans. He's scared of bridges and drains; he loves the beach but hates the sea; he barks at hot air balloons and horses; he waits by the window at four o'clock every day because he knows that's the time my mum finishes work; he worships the sun; and he lightens up every room when he enters with his cheeky little face and wonky wagging tail. Seeing Dave again has made me realise and appreciate how much I really love him. I just want to squeeze him and cuddle him all day every day. He makes me laugh and love and feel loved without even trying. I leave Cornwall on Monday and I'm devastated. Ok, actually I am excited about getting some order back in my life. I miss working and I need a house. And it'll be ideal being back in Hemel so I can see my friends all the time. But I'm going to miss Dave so much. I wish I could tell him how much I love him and that I'll visit when I can. It upsets me that he won't know where I've gone and that he'll be upset. I'll Skype home to see my Mum and Nan but skyping Dave just isn't the same... Maybe after writing this blog people won't see me as a crazy cat lady but a deluded dog lover instead. I think I can finally say that I'm more of A Dog Person. My cats look on resentfully when I'm cradling Dave like a baby, and I don't like jealously. Cats are still number two on my favourite living things list though, above humans coming third. Unless Furbys count as living, in which case humans are fourth... I'm going to go now. I haven't touched Dave in about an hour and I'm getting withdrawal symptoms and anxiety.
Ollie-Moffin Tongue Brehme #cats #tongue
What it really feels like to be home
I've been back in England for 9 days and it honestly feels like I've never left. I was told this would be the case by all of my more experienced traveler friends, but I never thought it would be exactly the same. In some ways it's amazing that everything is the same. If my friendships had altered of faltered in any way I would have been devastated; they were the main reason I came home early. Being homesick is a strange emotion. I didn't feel any need to come home the whole time I lived in New Zealand. It felt like home. I'd only been away for 21 months so it didn't seem long enough to worry about what I'd be missing. When I flew out of Queenstown last August, it wasn't really out of choice. I still had 2 months left of my visa that I begrudgingly forfeited: I couldn't find a job and I'd already worked the maximum amount of time I legally could. I had enough money to buy my Australian visa, my flight to Cairns and about a weeks worth of accommodation in a hostel. That was it. Leaving New Zealand was the worst feeling. I found who I was there, I made friends for life and I fell in love with Wellington. When I moved to Australia, that's when I had my first bout of homesickness- not for England but for New Zealand and the life I had left. Nimbin was an easy place to call home. I had my cousin and his family that instantly welcomed me in to their lives. I had a fun job working at the hostel and I was seeing Jimmy. I was having too much fun to be homesick. My plan was always to move to Melbourne though, that's the sole reason I left. In hindsight I would have stayed in Nimbin for a few more months and then moved to Melbourne to finish off my visa. I've realised though that I have a fear of missing out. I couldn't bear the thought of becoming stagnant in familiarity. Melbourne lived up to my expectations; it's truly an amazing city. But really it's nothing if you've got nobody to share it with. There were times where I felt Melbourne was too big for me, not in size but in it's presence. I felt inferior. When I left I didn't feel a twinge of anxiety or sadness; I didn't care at all. In fact, everyone I encountered on that day either walked impossibly slowly in front of me or was just generally rude and annoying. I was grateful to be escaping a massive city. I was overcome with sadness quite suddenly. I'd felt a bit down in Melbourne for a while but I thought it would pass. I still laughed every day, I got to make coffee, I enjoyed the basic things. After a while though you need more in your life than just going to work, eating out, reading a book, having a chat to someone you don't really care about, sleeping in a 4 bed dorm then getting up to work for someone you think is a wanker again. It's all well and good saying 'I'm living in Melbourne' - it sounds glamorous - but it's a facade to carry on living somewhere for the cool points. I had to get out before I started to resent it. I decided I needed to come home when I was very drunk (standard Georgia). I called my Dad crying and told him that I couldn't do it anymore. I needed to have my friends back and I missed my family too much. I'm sure I didn't say it as eloquently as I thought I did at the time but the emotion was real and I don't regret calling him. It probably would have been better to call him sober and not at 2am though... I flew in to London after a 28 hour journey and saw my dad waiting for me. It was surreal that one minute I was in Australia in 32 degree heat and the next I'm driving to Hemel Hempstead with my Dad, 28 months after leaving. The thing is, it felt so normal. When I saw my brother Saul, apart from hugging for about 30 seconds and noticing his beard is even bigger in real life than it is in pictures, the excitement was sort of over. I love him more than anything and I probably missed him more than anyone since I left, but we just molded back in to how we were before I left. The same goes with the friends I caught up with. It's like I hadn't seen them in 2 weeks, not 2 years. I only saw a few of my friends when I arrived back in England. Naively I thought I would be bombarded with texts and messages from everyone vying for my time. I forgot that actually, everyone else has responsibilities and lives. It's me that decided to leave and suddenly come back. I can't expect everyone to drop everything they've got in their lives just because I'm home. Especially not in the first two days, if I don't see them within a month, then maybe I'll have a problem but 48 hours isn't really a fair amount of time to catch up with every one you've missed since 2012. Coming to my mums was the most exciting thing about coming home so far. I had a 4 hour train journey before I arrived in Cornwall so I had a lot of time to think about how it would be to see her again. I stepped off the train and my mum, Hobbit and dog Dave were all waiting for me. My mum ran over with tears in her eyes which made me feel validated. Hobbit was excited and Dave didn't know who I was (he's 15 and slightly deaf and blind now) I did force him to love me though by cradling him like a baby and not letting him go. After the initial rush of happiness and excitement of me finally returning home in one piece, the novelty has worn off and I'm just back to being a part of their everyday life. Now that I'm back, no one really cares what I've done and why should they? The last two years away have been mine, and no one back home knows what it was like. They're happy I'm home so I can create new memories with them, but honestly it will be so boring for them to listen to stories about people they've never met in places they've never been. There are definitely perks to being home: avocados are so much cheaper; I finally got my Boots meal deal after longing for one for 2 years, my make up collection is back to it's prime; I have all of my amazing clothes back that I forgot about (it's like having a brand new wardrobe that you haven't had to pay for... well not again any way) It's great to have my style back. I lost it when I was away. I do love skater skirts and crop tops, but it's definitely nice to have other options! I feel like I'm not a mystery anymore. I'm no longer elusive with my own independent life. I'm back to normal, just like everybody else. I loved being away- that was my thing. Now I have to find something else. It really does feel like I've come to an abrupt stop and I haven't braced myself, even though it was me driving. I've come home and it feels like you could have erased the last two years of my life and nothing would be different. I keep having to remind myself that actually, without those years I wouldn't have experienced any of what I have or met those people who have changed my life. I'm so proud of being away for such a long time and I'm so happy it happened. Being back in England is still a part of my adventure so I don't need to mourn my travels. I get to spend the next year with my friends and family, go to festivals and holidays and have an English family Christmas. Returning home has given me heaps of mixed emotions. I've definitely done the right thing by coming home, I know that. It is just very hard to go from one extreme to another. Once I have a job and a real life back I'll feel normal again. At the minute I'm sort of in limbo, with endless free time to think over and over my decisions and second guess myself. If feels so cliche to compare your life to a book, but it really does feel like I'm refusing to move on from the last chapter of my life because it was so perfect. How will I find out what happens next if I keep rereading the same thing? It's time to get closure on the last two years and say thank you for the best time of my life, but it's time for new experiences and new memories to be made. I'm about to start the next chapter.
Happy Birthday!
Today is my boobs 3rd birthday. Happy Birthday Sebastian and Blossom! Yes I named them. No I don't tend to actually refer to them as that, but for the purpose of wishing Happy Birthday, it's useful to have names. Three years ago when I was 19, I had my boob job. I remember that morning; I was ridiculously excited. I made a boob job countdown and when the final day had been crossed off, everything suddenly felt real. I wasn't just talking about surgery; I was actually doing it. My mum and nan drove me to London and I remember being annoyingly excited. I must have updated my Facebook status about 20 times before 11 o'clock. We finally got there and that's when the nerves really kicked in. It reminds me of my Bungee Jump. I'm not afraid of heights; I actually get a thrill when I'm up high. I was the one in our group that was excited instead of nervous. I was laughing, joking and genuinely couldn't wait to jump. That was until I was standing on the edge looking 134 metres down. It hits home that you're doing something completely against your instincts; it's dangerous and you may not survive. Ok that's unlikely but 100% possible. I had to sign a form that detailed the health risks of surgery and the possibility that I may not wake up afterwards. That's a big deal, but at the time I was too excited to worry. I'm someone who thinks; if you don't take risks, are you really living anyway? Obviously I woke up, but I was so dazed from the drugs that I couldn't feel pain or comprehend anything that had happened. The next 2 weeks were the worst 2 weeks of my life. I was in excruciating pain. Pain that even when I think about now, I feel sad. I couldn't physically get out of bed by myself. I relied on my brother to hoist me out of bed while I was sobbing, which made the pain even worse. My left boob felt like it was on fire, being stabbed all while the muscle was being twisted. I couldn't lift my left arm above waist height. I couldn't put any weight on my arms at all without getting that intense burning feeling and screaming. Not only was the pain horrific, but I didn't expect my boobs to look so bad when they were first done. Obviously that was naive. I expected to wake up like a page 3 model; instead I woke up like Madonna when she wore that pointed corset. They were so high, hard and pointy. I thought what the fuck is this?! I've paid £4000 for THESE?! So with the feeling of exasperating pain, shit tits and facing the fact that I had just put my life at risk for vanity; I was pretty depressed. I also had a horrific allergic reaction to the medication I was on; that I am too scarred by to tell anyone. Why did I do this to myself? I felt disgusting. I couldn't believe I had silicone in me. I had scars. I couldn't move my arm. I thought of nothing else but what a huge mistake I had made. That was until they healed and I could get out of bed alone. So once the pain finally subsided and my boobs actually looked how I expected them to, my wave of depression was over. I know that's shallow, but pain is only relevant if it still hurts. I could finally see the long term benefits of my decision. I went from a 38A to a 34DD. My confidence rocketed. I felt that finally my body was in proportion for the first time in my life. I honestly don't know if I would have gone traveling if I hadn't had the surgery beforehand. I wouldn't have met the people that I'm dying to come home to see. I wouldn't have changed my life. They're the type of fake boobs where people think I've just got really awesome real ones. My scars are barely visible. I don't have to wear bras. Bikinis instantly look better. They're a good conversation piece. I don't feel fake or vain. I'm not ashamed of my decision. I'd recommend to anyone that has body confidence issues that aren't fixed by diet and exercise, that surgery is a good road to go down and explore. Do research, pay more, ensure you receive good after care. Make sure it's really what you want. For me they were the best decision I've ever made. So I just want to say Happy Birthday to the girls who changed me for the better. For giving me the confidence to travel, to talk to guys, to wear different clothes and to finally be happy with my body. I love you.