MY FIVE (NOT SO SECRET) PASSIONS

ONE

An average person would probably scratch their heads and look confused is someone were you yell “IF YOU SMELL WHAT THE ROCK IS COOKING!”, announcing to the entirety of Facebook that you have to avoid the internet for a number of days because you don't want a Pay-Per-View spoiled or how Kharma needs to come back (and they're not referencing the fates of the universe). I am talking about Wrestling. Sweaty men in shorts grabbing each other in various holds in order to “win” a match. Wrestling is “my” soaps – except with better story lines and better fights.

TWO

“Oh, la la la, cashing up, putting the money on the machine, what does that equal? 67p! A whole 67p! Writing down numbers on a sheet and putting it into a computer... discrepancy! DISCREPANCY! How do we rectify this discrepaaaannncccyyy?!”
Imagine that to some tuneless melody and you'll stumble upon probably the most irritating thing I do. Singing everything I do. I mean everything. I'm singing this right now as I type. La la la!

THREE

We fell in love with Shenmue, were captivated and left hanging by Shenmue 2, now we're praying and begging for a Shenmue 3. The “we” being a small group of people who love their DreamCast. An old games console that was way before its time by having internet access in the 90s. Older games are another passion of mine, especially Shenmue – a story in which a teenager is hell-bent on avenging the death of his father through martial arts.

FOUR

“Jokes about German sausages are the wurst”

“Atheism is a non-prophet organisation”

“A girl said she recognised me from Vegetarian club, but I'd never met herbivore”

… that's right.

Puns.

Puns and bad jokes will have me laughing for hours.

...It's because I think they're punny.

I chuckled at myself, and I'm not even ashamed.

FIVE

You sit in the circle. Smiling. Wearing a pink ‘My Little Pony’ t-shirt with the word ‘Princess’ on it. A flowery bobble tying your hair half-up half-down. It’s your first day at school. College. Nervous and twitchy.

The teacher strolls confidently in and tells you all to grab chairs and put them in a circle – “For everyone to get to know each other better” he says. You grab one of the blue, plastic chairs - it screeches as you pull it. An embarrassed smile dons your face as your cheeks slowly turn a darker shade of pink, almost matching your t-shirt. Why did I have to wear this today. Baby. It’s not much of a circle, more of a semi, so you plonk your chair clumsily on the end of the row. The teacher comments on the condition of your class’ so-called circle and tells everyone to pull their chairs in. Great.

You have to sit right next to your teacher. Mr – something. You didn’t quite catch his name; you were too busy fretting over not making the squeaky noise with the chair again. Only you do. A few people titter. “Pardon you!” the teacher booms as your cheeks surpass the colour of your t-shirt. You have to start by telling the class your name. “Nicole, Adam, Sean, Stephanie, Adrian, Susan, Katie, Christian, Elle, Joe, David” then you. You say your name out loud, tensely croaking it out.

Question after question is answered around this circle. “What’s your favourite film?” Tummy aching. “What’s your favourite food?” Sweaty Palms. “What’s your favourite colour?” You rack your brain every time for an answer that won’t make you stand out as ‘the weird one.’ Then the question you dreaded from the start. “What’s your favourite genre of music?” Answers come around slowly. It’s nearing the end of the lesson and you stare at your watch urging the second hand to go faster. Praying for the bell to ring. The teacher calls your name. “What’s your favourite genre of music?”

So you sit in the circle. Smiling. Wearing a pink ‘My Little Pony’ t-shirt with the word ‘Princess’ on it. A flowery bobble tying your hair half-up half-down.

“Heavy metal” you say.

MY FIVE BEST FRIENDS

COLE

Countless ginger jokes. She recently got engaged to my boyfriend's best friend (before us and we introcued them!) I told her that if she makes me wear yellow as a bridesmaid's dress then I won't be coming to her wedding. I hope she knows I'm deadly serious.

STEPH

Blonde a skinny little thing I used to be insanely jealous of in school. But the most humble spoilt person I've ever met. Her father bought her a Clio, it wasn't fast enough so he sold it, let her keep the money from the sale and then bought her a new Clio sport. Things like that happen far too often, but personality wise we're so alike that I overlook the fact that she has far too much money and that she should give me some!

ZAYNE

I don't even know if he is my friend anymore. We've not contacted each other in months properly and whenever I've seen him he's with his girlfriend who absolutely hates any of Zayne's friends. The "gothic" game developer (if he saw that I described him as "gothic" he would try to bludgeon me to death with something extremely blunt so the pain would last...) My partner in crime when it comes to writing, my most fond memory would be when we stayed up all night filming a sitcom between plastic toys from Poundland, we never edited it in the end for full release, though the outtakes can be seen here:

PETE

Pete is Zayne's best friend and they are a wacky pair. Zayne being the most extreme athiest I've met and Pete being the most Christian of the Christians. They've decided that is the only thing they will not bring up in arguments as they would never agree. Oh, and they're also not allowed to mention Zayne's bald patch or Pete's skin condition. Pete is a new friend of mine and has made a ridiculous amount of effort with the whole "friendship" thing. He likes the worst things possibly, cheesy music, film's like White Chicks and Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion and Wrestling too, which is a bonus!

EMILY

Emily is fantastic, She's the best friend you've made out here. She's thoughtful, caring and hysterically funny. Well, to you anyway. What Emily falls down on however, is luck. Not even a single unlucky experience. Instead of having bad hair days (hers is always short, fiery and pillar box red) she has bad luck days, where unlucky events seem to follow her. Like she's waiting for a bus and three come along at the same time, and instead of catching the buses they just hit her. Or something like that.

Today, yourself and Emily are helping a friend Missy. A girl who, contrary to her name, is the most boyish girl you know. She has to get a bridesmaid dress. You pick a few out for her and within about half an hour she has found the dress she is going to buy. This is surprising. You and Emily thought it would be the toughest challenge to find your rugby playing, stocky friend a dress that, by the bride's orders had to be periwinkle blue. You succeed in finding a knee length, off the shoulder number that fits Missy beautifully. You liken you and Emily to the 'Trinny and Susannah' of bridemaid's outfits. Missy and Emily look at you strangely. You've done it again. You have to explain the British reference to the Americans and by the time you have, it's lost all it's novelty. You do that far too often.

After choosing this dress, Missy goes elsewhere to have lunch with her parents. You and Emily

get into her car with a strong feeling of accomplishment and the sense that today is going to be fantastic.

Then you're in a car crash.

Not a big crash. Not a BOOM! BANG! type of crash. No explosions, no debris. No death or destruction. No fire, smoke or drama. No pomp. No circumstance. You even have to ask Emily “Did we just hit a curb?” But no. It's a car. You've gently graze-bumped a flashy white jeep. This jeep is owned by a man sporting the most horrific moustache and a pink polo shirt. He begins to go batshit crazy. There are no marks, though. Emily gets out of her car and apologises profusely but he doesn't want to accept any of it. He complains and rants and moans. He proceeds to take down all of her details. In the whirlwind panic of it all Emily forgets to take any photos or record any proof that there actually is no mark or scratch at all. The man will probably try and bill her $400 worth of damage to his bumper and get away with it. She'll probably have to pay it.

Thinking that things can't get much worse she gets back into her car and sulkily drives out of Sioux Falls. Sioux Falls is the town closest to Vermillion and is known as the 'Three State City' because whatever exit you take you end up in a different state. You're meant to go to South Dakota. However, Emily, being Emily, takes a wrong exit without realising. You are blissfully ignorant for about half an hour, at which point you get out the map of South Dakota and try to find road names or anything familiar that may match it. You discover that you aren't in South Dakota. You are in Nebraska. You don't want to be in Nebraska. You were aiming for South Dakota. You have missed. There are no suitable places to turn. You have to keep driving forward. And forward. And forward. You're both getting extremely irritated. You find a right turn and take it in the hope that you can turn around soon.

The road you are on is straight and long, with no end in sight. All you can make out is a vague sloped hill, far off into the distance. In your journey, you are framed on both sides by the breathtaking scenery of Nebraska. Vibrant green and striking yellow patches of grass. Elegantly carpeted nothingness stretching out forever. A blank canvas. You marvel for a moment at how beautiful 'nothing' can be as you push forward.

The road takes around an hour to drive down completely. What once started out so amazing and gorgeous actually turns out to be rather tedious. You eventually find turns and upon seeing the sign saying “Welcome to South Dakota” Emily lets out a roaring “Fuck you, Nebraska!” and gleefully accelerates. It's a lovely evening. What Emily doesn't seem to realise is that there is a red light directly in front of her and a police car directly behind. She drives through the red light while the cop car behind stops. She notices and, not for the first time in the day, panics. She drives down a lane that you're not meant to drive down, almost running over a man having a cigarette (Smoking kills). She's convinced the policeman is chasing behind her so she speeds up ridiculously.

You yell and scream to Emily that “They're gaining on us!” and encourage her to drive erratically until the people tailing you go away. In all the fuss, Emily loses control of herself, the panic subsides and she begins to hysterically laugh. You laugh too. She drives in circles around streets until she lets you convince her that there is no policeman on her tail.

After all of this fuss, Emily really needs to pee. You drive into Walmart and she proceeds to text friends everything that just happened. Also explaining why you are both three hours late getting home. She has her head down. Woman on a mission. She marches into the toilets. She recalls to you later that she glanced up and casually thought to herself “They've put urinals in the women's toilets” She then tells you that she went to use the bathroom and then became aware that, to her horror, there were a group of men entering the toilets looking straight at her. She laughed nervously, mortified, and made a hasty exit.

Needless to say, today wasn't a great day for Emily.

FIVE ODDEST FOODS

MONTE CRISTO.

In a little cafe in Hill City which is famed for its delicious desserts, like the nicknamed "Tower Cup of Death" (a huge sundae glass filled with chocolate mousse, sauce, fudge and brownies). It also serves the astounding "Monte Cristo" and by golly, I was astounded! It's a sandwich, plain and simple, right? Wrong. So wrong. The club sandwich contained swiss cheese, turkey and ham. The sandwich bread was french toast. The sandwich was then deep fried. The sandwich then patted completely with powdered sugar. The sandwich was served with raspberry dip. It wasn't very nice.

QUAVERS AND MILK

This was my obsession when I was about 5, and I still do it now from time to time. You have a glass of milk and use the scooped part of the quaver as a "spoon" and pick the milk up with it... I was an odd child.

APRICOT YOGHURT AND PALONY SAUSAGE

I think when I was about 16-20 I had some sort of four year long phantom pregnancy and used to eat this quite regularly. I would dip a tesco value cheapy palony sausage, cut into slices, into a smooth apricot yoghurt and enjoy it. I'd probably still enjoy it now. It's a weird one.

SPAGETTI ON CRACKERS

When my dad first became ill and my mam had to leave the house I would cook for him. I was eight years old with an over active imagination. We had no bread, so I thought crackers were similar enough to bread for spagetti on toast. I piled the steaming hot tinned spagetti on top of buttered Jacob's crackers. My dad ate it all and pretended to enjoy it. One of my more favoured memories of him. The crackers had turned to complete mush and it all amalgamated into some tepid mush, but he still ate it all. For me.

UNKNOWN

You regularly eat at the University Commons. The University, as part of the studying abroad deal has provided you with a meal plan. You have your card with rations for the year swiped. You enter and sit at your regular table. Towards the front. Near the food.

This particular time you've had your usual meal of Chicken Alfredo Pasta, which may sound quite nice but do not be fooled. Like all student food it's tasteless, badly cooked and just flat out bad for you. This meal consists of overcooked pasta, with scraps of chicken off the bone dowsed in some watery cream. The only redeeming feature of the entire place is the bread-sticks. They do the most amazing bread-sticks. Everybody fights for them. A huge pile of students elbowing, shoving and tripping to get a taste of the herby, bready goodness. Today you have obtained two bread-sticks. Go you. But you've probably developed a bruise on your shin because someone thought they deserved them more than you did.

Emily fancies dessert today and goes up to the busy buffet of food, selects something and returns. Yourself, Missy and a few others stare at it. Sarah, a girl who often lunches with you, speaks first.

“What is that?”

Emily looks disgusted.

“I don't know, but I think it's strawberry flavoured.”

“There's definitely some sponge in there” you say, staring intently. Missy asks the question you've all been thinking.

“Why?”

“Well,” Emily replies, “it was either that or a bowl of fruit”

“Emily, it looks like it's alive.” Sarah says, grabbing Emily's fork to play with it some more.

“It looks like an alien afterbirth that's been eaten then vomited up again.” Missy looks proud of her analogy as the rest of you maintain your faces of repulsion.

Emily play fights with Sarah to get her fork back. She faces the dessert as if it's a staring competition. A stand off. A 'this town isn't big enough for the two of us' moment.

You stare into the gelatinous, diseased mess. Missy was right with her description. This gooey placenta of festering mucus seems to be lifelike. Emily slowly pushes her fork into it and with a moist squelch it repulsively gloops across the plate. It begins to secrete an almost clear discharge of liquid. Tinged light pink. The amoebic pudding lays still, bleeding out over the white plastic plate. Burnt parts of the lurid crimson sponge look scabby as Emily casually and repeatedly prods it. Diseased, infected and septic, it lets Emily hack away at it. It is a soldier laying on a battlefield. Gangrenous and dead, it's pus and blood gushing out. Every now and then Emily mutilates it some more, with a repugnant squish each time one of it's many limbs falls off. She should've gone for the fruit.

“I'm going to eat it.” She says.

Everybody else can't quite believe it and huddles around.

Emily places the fork fully into the red goo and pushes slowly into it. Sarah retches.

“Don't do it Emily” you warn her dramatically as she raises a forkful of this pudding to her lips. She's carefully avoided the jelly and gone for the more spongy bit. She nibbles the end, her face blank.

“Well, it's not strawberry flavoured.” She says, looking a little peaky.

“What is it?” Missy asks.

“I'm... well, I'm not entirely sure... It tastes savoury.”

“Like salty?” Sarah probes.

“Yuh-huh.” Emily looks at it. Horrified that she's even tried it.

“I want to try some” Missy chirps, followed by Emily grabbing the fork and putting her hand up to Missy's face.

“Trust me. You do not want to do that.” You go instead. You bravely grab yourself a fork and cut off, as best you can, a piece of the gelatinous mess. You place it into your mouth with false confidence, thinking it can't really be all that bad. Suddenly, the texture and taste of the hideous thing forces your throat to spasm uncontrollably. The small piece of whatever you just ate slides down into your windpipe, wrapping around your throat. You can neither swallow nor regurgitate. You could potentially choke to death but Missy slaps you fiercely on the back. “I'm definitely not trying any now!”

You suggest that perhaps the dessert would be better suited to NOT being eaten by anything that intends to remain living. Everyone is in agreement with you. As a united collective, you all crowd around the bin and let out a small cheer as whatever kind of alien life form you've just been subjected to lets out a last gasping 'gloop' noise and slithers off into the abyss of the rubbish bag, never to be seen again. You hope.

MY FIVE POEMS

ALREADY FALLEN

His skin wore black as I wore pale

The easy breathing to exhale.

My arms grew tight the feeling numb

To brief district fantasies overrun

with fear and grief and pain and truth.

A laugh so sweet wrapped in uncouth

mysteries of the blood, terror of the free

I never knew you, like you've always known me.

The rhythm of the rocking became disjointed

as what once was pure became anointed

with death and disease and all the happiness in it

and I alone descend, laughing and will commit

my skin. Clawed back as I wear weary.

Enveloped in breath, in your own mind's theory

My body trapped in an anesthetized bliss

I cannot forgive, you promised me this.

HOLD YOURSELF

To reach,

relaxed, into the sky

To hold a burden with the stars.

The dust encased in the breast of the universe

That was once us

is us.

That dust molded our stature, demeanor.

That dust painted memories, friends.

That dust is us.

That dust is me.

So to reach,

relaxed, into the sky

is reaching into ourselves

and learning that we, the universe,

are the blood and the body

and the sky.

(To be read aloud at a Poetry Slam)

BREATHE, SIT AND STARE...

Shit. It's blank.

White and horizontal, mocking cuts of lines

and more white.

White, line, white line, write, line, right, line I've got you now.

I've written:

my name.

Ink sinking in and shimmering back on freshly christened sheets.

The art of making love with the written word.

You begin.

You find a rhyme

and that's fine

You find a rhyme

just in time

You find a rhyme

lemon and lime, forever mine, cheese and wine, Greenwich mean time, ehfdiwmscklupine

How do people do this for a living?
Dylan Thomas. Yeats. John Donne.

Doctor Suess. Eminem. Billy Shakes.

Oh, they all found it so easy.

They found a secret. They preached and taught

and I, in my three years of Higher Education forgot

to actively write.

Why am I doing this?

How am I doing this?

You look back and fail to recognise the scribbled panic of your rambling thoughts and oh-!
God. Divine, unholy, true and trinity.

Entwined in masking young girl's virginity.
Everyone and their uncle Margaret writes about God. I'll give it a go-
No. Because I don't care. I don't have an outstanding opinion on anything

deity related or not.

I forgot.

I've been sitting on the fence for so long I'm fused to it.

Watching the successful Figures Of Words dance merrily into the distant sunset.

WHAT I SHOULD HAVE

Never assume there's a next time.

Fleeting moments shorten and fade

You look back, mind's eye cloudy

Recalling memories that you made.

Together a smile in a photograph,

becomes one to reminisce.

Not ready to 'let go' yet

So simply promise me this.

Never assume there's a next time

You'll end up with a touch of regret

Though forgiving whispers linger

It's something you'll never forget.

Together the smile in a photograph

is framed and proudly shown.

The memory constant and longing

the fondness has nothing but grown.

I've learned things happen for a reason

Though the reason still escapes me

So never assume there's a next time,

because next time might never be.

ARGUE WITH YOU

To begin with,

You're standing there

holding air

in your mouth for what seems like

an age because you're afraid to say it.

“I-”

“I know.”

She interrupts. You jerk palm into her pale

facade in a righteous attempt to silence

but she endures. Her breath tickles the

life crack lines of your hand and shudder

judder down spines make you audibly huff.

This annoys her.

To begin with,

She's screaming there

cutting the air

with gestures so flamboyant you reach out to

cease the flailing retardation of her limbs

and regurgitation of insults hurled right into

your chest and brain as they fester and grow

and you begin to think she's in the right.

This annoys you.

To begin with,

She's crying there

through her hair

and hands and damp precipitation of emotion

spewing from her face because you told her the truth

and for the first time in forever her ears guiltily

pricked and she listened. Although this is just an

imaginary image you pray to any force stronger than

yourself and her to achieve. But you will never get

on, agree or achieve anything. At all. Ever.

This annoys us.

MY FIVE GULLIABLE/STUPID MOMENTS

REINDEER

I was sitting in a packed car on the way to porthcawl in the summer, with Sean, Jamie, Gareth and Ryan, my old college buddies. Sean suggested we go to Margam park to feed the Reindeer for Chistmas. I sat there indignant, replying sarcastically "Oh yeah, I bet they have an old man as Santa and midgets as elves too. What do they do? Sprinkle glitter over moose and tell you they can fly?" Silence.

"Reindeers are real animals Bethan"

"Of course they are"

"No, no we're serious"

Knowing the type of company I kept I refused to believe them. I was still tempted to not believe them even when they text an 'Ask-Any-Question' Company "Do Reindeers exist?"

That's still a story they tell everybody at Christmas.

GOD

This is a bit of a more serious one. I used to be extremely religious. If you met me when I was 15 you would be meeting a completely different person to the one I am now. Please don't get me wrong, the amount of respect I have for people that have faith is endless, but myself – I had to give up, because it felt like everything else was giving up around me. There's only so much God can do to a family to "test" your faith... and I guess I wasn't strong enough.

ABC CLUTCH

This is a pretty simple one – I thought the clutch of a car was the hand brake – because you "clutch" it.

FAILING MY SECOND UNIVERSITY YEAR

This is the first time I'll properly admit this. I could have passed. I blame the lecturers as if it's their fault but if i had just put my head down and got on with it I wouldnt be in the situation I was in now. I would've passed. However, I wouldnt have had as much fun and I wouldnt have the life I have now. So in a way I actually apprecaite the fact I failed a year because it did a lot more for my life than anything else ever could. It fixed my life around and sent me on an adventure which i really enjoyed rather than regretted. An adventure which im going back to. I'm visiting South Dakota in a few weeks time and I can not wait.

JACKALOPE

You've made some more new friends. One of these, a gay vegetarian with pink hair named Scott, takes you away for a weekend of sightseeing. You travel to Wall Drug, a strange themed street that prides itself on being overly 'hick'. It shows mounted animals on walls, banjos and statues of local heroes. Poker Ann, a really old lady who was amazing at Poker. Hunter Bob, a really old guy who was amazing at hunting. Taxidermist Joe, a really old guy who – well, you get the picture. You are silently grateful that there isn't a 'Child Molester Gerald', or something. Turning the corner of this street you witness something horrific. Something that Taxidermist Joe took pride in. Stuffed foxes, badgers and bear cubs dressed as humans and acting out daily routines, having breakfast, going to work, etc. You reel back in horror at this nightmarish scene and back onto something that prods you annoyingly.

Spinning around, you're suddenly face-to-face with something equally horrendous as before. A stuffed rabbit head with antlers mounted on a hunting plaque.

“That's a Jackalope.”

Scott has approached you and is offhandedly reeling out tourist information as if everything is completely normal.

“A Jackalope is a rabbit, with deer antlers.”

“I can see that.” You state. Fixed onto it's beady glass eyes. You seem to be imitating it by not blinking back, staring directly into it's lifelike but dead face. You begin to think it's quite sweet and innocent looking.

“Are they real?” You ask rather hopefully. Breaking the gaze and looking to Scott for answers.

“Of course. I used to have one as a pet. Mine grew to about this big” He stretches his arms to almost a metre apart and you gawp at the size in admiration.

“I won awards with it in a country fair when I was young.” comments Scott, after noticing your awed countenance.

“They're half Jack Rabbit and half Antelope” he continues. “They're known to be nocturnal creatures. They sleep belly up and their milk is medicinal, though very rare to obtain. They stay in small communities of other Jackalopes and can imitate sounds around them. It's been said that they can sing in chorus. Not very well, but they try.”

The penny drops.

“They're not real are they?” You look to Scott, utterly heartbroken.

He begins to laugh hysterically. You feel cheated, devastated and wronged. To remind you of the moment at which you lost your innocence, you purchase a stuffed toy Jackalope. Every time you look upon its horned fluffy face, you will be reminded not to be so naïve as to believe everything you're told. Especially about cute, fuzzy things with antlers.

MY FIVE SCARIEST MOMENTS

THE LAST VISIT

He was lying down in a bed. White bed, white walls, white bedding. All I can remember specifically- getting angry at the nurses because they wouldnt use the hand santizer that was there and required as he was high dependency. He was a shell. He was no longer a father and no longer whatever I wanted my dad to be. I knew deep down and it makes me sick that to this day I wasn't allowed near him because I had a cold. I had to wear gloves and a plastic apron. I couldn't say goodbye.

THROAT

Sit back with your head in my hands and whatever you do, dont look down. The three infamous words associated with Oblivion, but it was an obvilion into pain and not fun theme park rides. The needle was comedy sized and was put into my mouth while I was still awake. Petrified isn't the word.

HORROR

Horror films. Blood. Pus. Goo. I'm a baby.

ROLLER COASTER

Click clack, click clack. Your stomach churning, gurgling in fear at the thing you've put yourself through. You reach the top and plummet. I hate it. My first rollercoaster was a wooden horrible thing in Park Asterix. Far too rickety and far too fast. Far too everything. I also hate fair rides, because I don't trust anything that spends most of its time as a back of a van – so i suppose I wouldn't trust Optimus Prime either.

MARGARET THATCHER.

A friend has been sneaking alcohol in for you as you're currently twenty years old. A year short of being legal. Your friend buys the alcohol and passes it to you, leaving you by yourself to chat to whoever you can find. You find Paul.

Paul is a dickhead. That's the only way you can describe him. A stereotypical, verging on neo-Nazi, dickhead. You wouldn't put it past him if, along with his hunting gear and xenophobic demeanour, he was about to book himself in to get a swastika tattooed on his forehead. He probably wouldn't even feel the pain on account of his thick skull.

He's lovely to you at first. Of course, when you're in a foreign country everyone is lovely to you at first because you're quirky, different and you have a funny accent. What will later annoy you the most is how alarm bells didn't sound off with every word he spoke. When he tells you, through the chewing of his tobacco and spitting every few seconds onto the floor, that he hunts and his vast collection of guns are in his car, you are interested. You ask him questions about hunting and he looks surprised and speaks to you very condescendingly as he explains how to hold a gun as if it's something everything and their five year old child should know. You are, after all, in America.

You try to tell yourself to not be so judgmental. You have a friend called Sheryl who also hunts and chews tobacco. She goes out on the weekends and hunts with a bow and arrow, which you find to be one of the coolest things ever. She's genuinely a lovely person with an amazing attitude. It's just that this guy, Paul, isn't.

He begins to quiz you. An actual pop quiz on all of American politics. You know the basics. You felt the need to educate yourself a little about the country you'd be living in for a year. However, the questions being asked are American Politics Degree level. You stutter and inform him you don't know in-depth information about the political policies and parties. He decides, instead of understanding, to become angry. He accuses you of being a very ignorant person to travel to a country and not do any research. He decides to drop this point and then start asking you about your healthcare. He keeps repeating 'your' healthcare as if it belongs to you personally. What do you think of 'your' healthcare? What is the reasoning and logic behind 'your' healthcare? You decide to lighten the mood as he keeps driving you headlong into an awkward conversation that you have no intention of continuing.

“I don't really care. It's all free for me”

Paul does not take this well. He does not take this well at all. He begins to scream at you. He tells you that you are the most ignorant person he's ever met and within his slurred drunken rant mentions Margaret Thatcher. Your face drops. He has just said something positive about Margaret Thatcher. To a welsh person. He notices your expression and yells.

“MARGARET THATCHER IS THE GREATEST WOMAN THAT GOD EVER PUT TO WALK ON THIS EARTH.”

These words will stay with you forever. You remain silent. You think that if you retaliate he may attack. Or get a gun from his car. Or spit tobacco in your face. Or all of the above. You remain silent as his friend has to come over and remove him. You remain silent.