Heads or Tails.

I’ve spent two hours folding clothes into the smallest shape possible, calculating how much make up it’s possible to wear in 2 weeks, and prioritising work by how light the book is... it can only mean one thing. It’s the end of term.

Every time it’s the same :
- you pack light, and still have a heavy bag.

- you give everyone the biggest hug goodbye, and then remember it’ll only be a few weeks until you’re reunited.
- you excitedly get on the train home, anticipating the overjoyed welcome you always exaggerate in your mind, only to spend the journey terrified that your bag on the overhead shelf will fall on that small lady with her head stuck in a book. What a shock that would be...

But this time, it’s different.

This time, it’s the last time.
Reminiscing with friends this week about our very first day at University and the nerves involved with moving into halls, we all realised something. That feels like ages ago. And it is.

Next time I pack to go home, I’ll have finished University. I’ll be leaving...

Excuse me while I take a quick break to run around the house in a state of panic...

Regaining some composure, let’s have a look at the main issue here. As a final year Undergraduate, thoughts inevitably split between current study, as essays come out of your ears, and future plans. What am I going to do with my LIFE? I hear my friends moan. How do I pick a CAREER? HOW do I pay this loan off? and... it’s so UNFAIR we have to decide our future path at the horrifically young age of 21... That’s my personal favourite.  

Despite some insistence that student debt isn’t ‘real’ debt, students facing graduation feel the intense pressure of picking a career or gaining an internship and ultimately earning some money.

First arises the decision about living arrangements. Every student is terrified of going home. Although it’s a financially viable option, allowing you to eat proper food (rather than cereal for dinner), it can also be seen as a step back as you wave goodbye to the independence of living with friends and settle into the family hierarchy as if you never left.

Then there’s the choice of further study, an internship, or a direct job application. With the first two, there’s a further issue of income because, quite frankly, it’s unlikely you’ll have one. Facing the bank of Mum and Dad versus ANOTHER loan, further study is quite scary.

But regardless of these concerns, think about the real problem here. Every step is a risk. Moving back home is risky - what if you get stuck living with your parents for longer than expected? Living independently is risky - how are you going to afford it without the many loans and bursaries you’ve previously been used to? Further study is a risk - it’s another year between you and a career and another drain on the bank balance, but it could land you in that dream job. Applying for a career straight away is also a risk - you might hate it. Or you might rise up the career ladder and love it...

The way I see it, it’s all a big, fat risk. But surely at our age, now is the time to face it. The student loan will get paid back eventually, the job will eventually be landed, the dream flat will eventually be rented... it will just take time. So why not do what you want to do now, and chase the dream you have even if you do think it’s unattainable. If it doesn’t work out, you still have the rest of your life to change career and reconsider your options. So stop panicking and just go out there and do it. And if you don’t know what to do, it’s not the end of the world - you’re young enough to still have time to work this out. Remember the wise old words of Baz Luhrmann - some of the most interesting 40 year olds still don’t know what to do.

So yes Graduation is terrifying...it’s the end of an era. But it should also be stupidly exciting as it’s the start of another one, even if you haven’t planned everything about it yet.

With that thought, I’m off to flip a coin to decide my future now. Oh don’t judge...everyone knows no-one can take their own advice...

Ralph Meets Rust

Meet Ralph, my nice little red Ford Ka. 

Around this time of year I get, what I have less than affectionately termed, my ‘motor month’. Around now, everything from car insurance to the M.O.T expires. Taking a deep breath and a noticeable chunk out of my bank account, I keep my fingers crossed that nothing goes wrong. Ignoring jibes from male friends that this is such a girl’s car, and dismissing suggestions that I look for a newer vehicle or try to sell Ralph, I still vainly hope that all goes well so I can keep him for yet another year.

I have a history with Ralph you see. He’s ferried me to and from both college and work, as well as making it easier for me to get to my Dad’s house not to mention all my friends, who cleverly decided to live at least twenty minutes away.  He’s pretty much what you’d call a run-around car, which means he doesn’t have many miles on the clock, but nevertheless I still insist that Ralph is much needed and - strangely for an inanimate object - much loved.

So this week, I optimistically drove him to the garage for his yearly M.O.T, fully believing that all would be well. I waved away any doubts and fears that were expressed over his brakes, his clutch, his windscreen wipers and any kind of obscure mechanical fault that I wouldn’t fully understand. “He’ll pass” I insisted, giving him a confident pat before I zoomed off.

He failed. Ralph had rust.

Disappointed, we forked out just over £100 to cover the test and the welding Ralph ended up needing, whilst I silently cursed myself for being so confident and jinxing his fate. He’s back now, parked for the time being in the lay-by outside where I can see him. But I just can’t get something out of my head.

When I told a friend about my car’s failure, he grinned at me and slyly asked, “You know what they call rust for cars, don’t you?”
I shook my head.

“Cancer.”

I blinked. I laughed it off. But I faintly remember hearing this before…

So that’s it. Despite being reassured that he won’t need any more attention for at least 18months regarding his rusty underside, I can’t help feeling that I’m dealing with a case of impending car cancer.

Poor Ralph.
(...I wonder how much a Fiesta would cost...)

Money in the Boot

Car boot sales: a land of cowboy-hat wearing, banter loving traders of junk right? Wrong. 

This summer, cleverly missing all the seasonal job vacancies after my internship, I returned home, opened my wardrobe and decided I would make my millions like Del Boy; selling my childhood miscellany. I decided, sentimentally, that I couldn’t quite bring myself to part with my box of Barbie’s just yet, so I packed up the rest of my unwanted belongings and packed them snugly into Ralph, my little red Ka.

Yes I had to rise at an abominably early hour on the day, driving bleary eyed to the market. 

Okay I also had to sit in a queue for over an hour because, even at 6AM, it seems to be a universally known fact that no matter how early you arrive at a boot sale, there will always be a queue of cars waiting before you.

Nonetheless, I managed to grab a pretty decent spot next to a man who seemed to trade in hardware tools attending an impressive 3-4 markets a week! I’d like to think we became friends after he offered me some of the raspberries he’d just bought… Later a lady from the stall opposite rushed over, buying a pair of sunglasses from my display. She was so immensely grateful that I had these –on a hot day she’d tragically left hers at home. As I explained to my pitch neighbours that this was my money making scheme for the summer, they quipped that they expected to see me the following week. It seems my dear readers, that I have been welcomed into this dusty community… Trotter’s Independent Traders watch out!

Asides from breaking into this exclusive circle, I spied some other interesting characters. An elderly man wandered past my pitch with multi-coloured hair – I’m not even joking. If anyone does a remake of that McFly song about the girl with 5 colours in her hair, they should look to this guy for inspiration. Old and rocking it…

Or there was the little old lady who stopped by my table to rummage through her handbag looking for a small packet of Extra mints…once she finally found them, she kindly offered me one. Okay so she didn’t buy anything from me, but that’s rather sweet right? Or there was the kid, early teens, who flicked through every game I had repeating “got it…got it…got it”. Needless to say he didn’t find any he didn’t already own.

But some odd personalities did actually buy something. There was the father who bought his little girl a soft toy; a cuddly dog. This was her second choice though. She had originally reached for the fluffy purple unicorn provoking her Dad to say, “That’s a Unicorn – they’re not real.” Her face crumpled; I’m pretty sure her childhood dreams were crushed that day. She settled for the dog.

So asides from the people-watching that would make the likes of J.K.Rowling proud, did I actually make a cash profit, making the early morning worth it? Did I heck. £60 later and I found myself gleefully jingling my money bag home thinking to myself…I wonder how much I could get for those Barbies… 

There's more to Cadbury's than chocolate...

I'm going to warn you in advance that if you currently don't have a cup of tea and a slab of Cadbury chocolate in your hand, at the end of this post you might well want one...

...because I'm going to write all about Cadbury World! 

Oh yes. I visited my best friend Hannah in Birmingham last weekend; we had a girly reunion with another friend, Clare from back home, mainly because our summers are all over the place and we'd started having break downs over how long we potentially wouldn't see each other for...

Anyway, on the last day following the all too quick departure of Clare the night before, Hannah & I decided to explore nearby Bournville & it's main attraction; Cadbury World.

To say we were excited is an understatement. We ended up following a few groups of school children & I'm pretty certain we looked more excited & giggly than they did...

Of course we got freebies, scoured the chocolate shop for some bargains & ate as much chocolate as we physically could...it truly was like something from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. They even had a ride! But, we also learnt something. It seems there's more to Cadbury's than mere chocolate.

The Cadbury story began in 1824 when John Cadbury began selling tea, coffee and drinking chocolate. Gradually over time, he experimented with chocolate manufacture until in the 1840s he managed to open a factory in Bridge Street. The success of his chocolate increased so that it became available to the masses, & in the 1860s when John retired, his sons took over, continuing his business success. With such demand & productivity, they were able to move out of their small factory & set up Bournville; named due to the nearby Bournbrook and replacing 'brook' for the in-trend French word ville. Their business expanded still, and today Cadbury is known by almost everyone whilst Bournville is a beautiful, quaint little village surrounding the chocolate factory.

Ok so that was a history of Cadbury in a nutshell; leaving out how they put a glass & a half of milk in their chocolate, merged with Fry's chocolate company etc... but you get the jist. What was most interesting though was the social consideration the Cadbury family had. Bournville was created to be an aesthetically pleasing, green village so that their workers could live in the houses it offered & enjoy their surroundings. They believed happy workers could be more productive workers. They created the Bournville Village Trust, printed lists about how to live a healthy and happy life, gave their workers benefits & bonuses that were well ahead of their time & ensured every worker was treated fairly; like one of the family. Perhaps it's through maintaining the feel of a family-run business that Cadbury have done so well. Perhaps they really do just seem like a genuine, friendly company. Plus, we found that Bournville really was a lovely little village; we both said we'd love to live there!

Not just taking Cadbury World's word for it, Hannah & I explored the local village & found the Visitor Centre.

Inside is a stone inscription claiming that the building was dedicated to one of the Cadbury sons when he married. It seems that the villagers & workers had a respect for the chocolatiers, which was returned by good working conditions & benefits.

The Village Trust still exists today, but is now just one of the many things Cadbury attempt to do to help their society; think of their recent involvement with Fairtrade...they even have a water project in less developed countries (unfortunately asides from a poster, this wasn't even mentioned during the exhibition...)

So there you have it. Asides from making mouth-watering, delicious, milky chocolate (I don't care what some of you say...it IS the best!) they also have a certain respect for their workers & society...

It's official. Chocolate really is amazing. Now where's my stash of freebies gone... 

http://www.cadburyworld.co.uk/CADBURYWORLD/Pages/Welcome.aspx