All downhill from here...

I always felt sorry for the wrinklies when it got to their birthday and they’d say ‘ooh I’d rather forget this one’, or ‘Crikey, I’m turning 21 again’, you know, all those obligatory grumbles anyone over 30 is required to mumble at their time of the year.

I always felt positively young, fresh and bouncy in comparison as I'd made some sort of remark along the lines of, ‘I wish I looked older, I got I.D’d to buy a razor the other day’ (smug smug smug).

But for the first time in my life, I woke up on my 25th birthday with an impending feeling of doom, an overwhelming desire to obtain some superhero powers and stop that frigging clock from ticking so damn fast!

Now I’m sure anyone over 25 is thinking oh shut up you spring chicken, but seriously, according to my life plan (made aged 12 in my Forever Friends diary) I should be settled down in a nice little 3 bedroom cottage, married to Leonardo DiCaprio and pregnant with some Sweet Valley High twins by now.

But instead here I am on my 25th birthday in a rented apartment in New Zealand, slightly fatter, slightly less bouncy, eating beans on toast for breakfast, sticking my head in front of the oven to warm up and using really old clumpy YSL mascara.

No plan, no job, no money, no friends, no family, just me and Mr Kiwi. But he’s worth it….(oh gross, did I really just write that?)

The Ugly Duckling

I was concerned about not looking too made up for the rugby game, so i wore shorts and a t-shirt with minimal make up. I was therefore mortified to find out that we were going straight out into the city after all the rugby.

No matter, i convinced myself, from what i've heard about the girls in Auckland, i would fit in just fine. Boy, was i mistaken...

Walking to the pub, i was treated to an eyeful of overflowing tits, too fat thighs in too tight skirts, trannie make-up and a few pairs of thigh high red prostitute boots. Now i'm no Audrey Hepburn but it was as if Jodie Marsh had been here and thrown up all over everyone.

While the boys guzzled more booze and reverted back to caveman days, banging their chests and screaming for women and beer, i escaped to the toilet to freshen up. As i brushed my hair, i was approached by two gorgeous, glam looking girls who began to stroke my head.

'you're what i call a natural beauty' said the brunette who was struggling to open her eyes through the weight of her fake lashes.

'yeh' said the blonde who looked like she had been rolling around in mud ' i bet you don't even have any foundation on, here lets make you look hot'. She took out her bronzer brush and started to attack my cheeks with it.

Oh my god, i was like Tai from Clueless, the ugly bloody duckling. These girls, thought i needed their help to look 'hot'...How embarrassing. I was wrong about this place. The girls DO wear make up and they DO make an effort, I'm never going out sporting the natural look ever again.

And p.s where do all the classy girls hang out?

Testosterone overload

The last bit of sport i enjoyed watching was Euro 96 and that was just because i fancied Michael Owen, so I was a bit dubious when mr kiwi told me we were going to watch the rugby on saturday followed by more rugby at his friends house afterwards. I rolled with it, as i figured to survive in this country, i better start enjoying the damn game.

I didn't really end up watching any of the rugby, i was more entertained watching a group of young boys in front of us getting high on E numbers and giving us grief for supporting Harbour instead of Auckland. After shouting, swearing and throwing chips at us(crisps to us pommes) i ended up getting a plastic bottle launched at my head because Harbour won. The little shits.

Back at the friends house for round two of rugby watching The All Blacks, the booze guzzling really commenced and by the beard of Zeus can those boys knock em' back. I've never been a big drinker...one glass of sav i'm merry, two i'm drunk and three i'm passed out. So i knew that trying to keep up with the boys was probably a bad idea.

Instead i sipped my snakebites and giggled to myself as the boys hollered at the screen like the players could actually hear them or something. 'ooohhhaaaaahhheeeeehehh you fucking idiot move move move!' (I'm wearing ear drums next time) After the game i breathed a sigh of relief, my rugby quota was over for the day. Unfortunately i was mistaken, they then decided to watch another 4 games...Snore.

But i must say, as much as i would prefer to be with my girlfriends watching Sex and the City and talking about boys, i actually quite enjoyed the displays of testosterone. And that Dan Carter is bloody fit...

Showing Off...

Mr Kiwi took me out for drinks with some girls from his work last night. I think the excitement of integration with females combined with way too much sav went to my head and sent me all 'ADHD'.

I woke up this morning with a disgusting hangover, banana cake in my hair, cuts along my knuckles and my favourite pair of jeans in tatters. After slowly beginning to piece the night together, i had flash backs of heading to one of the girls houses for an after party and henceforth causing a trail of destruction.

I smashed one of her finest champagne glasses filled with some of her birthday champagne, i took a slice of her homemade banana cake and started a food fight by squishing it into Mr Kiwis hair, i then decided to attack my favourite pair of jeans with scissors and cut them up into shreads whilst still wearing them.

I think it's safe to say, these girls won't want the crazy Essex girl to join their pack. Damn that sav.

Loner...

In Essex, girls hang around in packs, like wolves. These packs rarely integrate with other packs, and if they do it's usually with an 'oh my god babe, i love your hair' followed afterwards by a 'ergh, did you see her disgusting hair?'

There's a word for what they call this and i think it's something like BITCH.

So now in NZ, without my pack, i'm a lone wolf, and a little bit lost. How does one make friends? How does one get ready for a night out without the opinions of at least 3 others? Does one just walk up to random strangers and say 'oh my god babe, i love your hair?'

I feel like one of those really unpopular people at school that had no friends and sat in the corner of the common room reading Jane Eyre and eating jam sandwiches.

I've taken my first lone wolf leap and signed up for a ballet class this Monday. Will i make any friends? Watch this space...

The simple life...

Who would have thought that I could get so much joy from the simple things in life?

I'm no Paris or Nicole but this is coming from a girl who gets cabs EVERYWHERE, takes 12 pairs of shoes on a 2 week holiday, won't go a month without a pedicure and can't spend more than 5 minutes in her own company without panicking and turning to phone/emails/facebook/msn messenger/credit cards.

Today however, i managed to find my way by public transit, yes public transit, to a little place called Mission Bay where i lay for hours on my own in the sand, listening to Jimmi on the ipod and watching seagulls fly around...and i didn't even have any make-up on!

You may also find it fairly amusing to discover that i now dine from a Panasonic cardboard box, boil water in a saucepan and hoover with a dustpan and brush. (that's what Mr Kiwi does and he's managed very well so far thank you very much)

Who needs Kettles, Dysons and tables eh?

Crowded House weren't wrong....

'Even when youre feeling warm,the temperature could drop away like four seasons in one day'

So, i forgot my hairdrier. Doh.

After Mr Kiwi  went to work, i got up, showered and sat shivering in the lounge letting my hair dry naturally in the arctic temperatures of the first day of NZ spring. After going a bit blue, i turned the oven up full blast and sat in front of it for a good few hours. (Most apartments here don't have heating apparently...good one) I then braved the howling wind outside with coat, scarf and mittens for a nippy walk around the city.

I woke up the next day and global warming had obviously decided to drop by and say hello to Auckland. I kicked back on the balcony in a vest and hot pants. My hair dried in under 5 minutes and i got sunburnt, yes sunburnt. I was even wearing SPF 30. Seriously, how's a girl meant to know what to wear in the mornings? This place is weird.

p.s splattered red hair dye up Mr Kiwi's white bathroom walls. Hoping he doesn't notice. If you're reading this now Mr Kiwi, i do aplogise.

The 'run and jump'...

I had kind of imagined my reunion with 'Mr Kiwi' as something like that scene from 'An Officer and a Gentleman' I would look gorgeous and he would effortlessly lift me up (where you belong) and carry me out of the airport as I grinned smugly to all the jealous people around me...

In reality, i emerged into arrivals after 32 hours of travelling, with skin that looked like it hadn't seen a Clinique moisturiser in years, puffy eyes topped off with lashings of black circles, hair like a hobo, a belly that had ballooned with 32 hours worth of trapped-wind and a distinct aroma of eau de B.O lingering around me.

I attempted the 'run and jump', he kind of staggered underneath my weight, made a loud groaning sound and then dropped me. Quite embarrassing if you think about it, really. And those looks of the people around me weren't of jealousy, oh no, they were of horror.

The Essex girl had landed....

The Preconceptions...

- Soon enough, i will know everyone's names as there are only 5 or 6 people in NZ so says 'Flight of The Conchords'
- Rugby is the be all and end all of life and i will fall in love with Dan Carter
- People keep sheep for pets
- The boys are constantly pissed and do the Haka as a mating call
- People drive waggons, and TV hasn't been invented yet
- There is no 'Heinz' just 'Wattie's'
- NZ is constantly covered by cloud
- I will be very bored as there is nothing to do
- The girls don't make an effort, have never dyed their hair, glug pints of beer and will immediately hate me

Spiderman...

I don't rate Cathay Pacific much. They got voted best airline in the world apparently...wtf?

Their seats don't  recline properly, they give you a choice of 'chicken sausage' or seafood for breakfast (mmm) and they sit you next to an 8ft spiderman who snores and farts the whole way and snakes his spider legs so far into your space that you have to try and bend yours up onto the food tray to get remotely comfortable before you inhale another mouthful of spiderman farts.

At least i got a good pedicure in Hong Kong. You gotta love those hard-working little Asian hands.

Saying goodbye...

I spent my send-off weekend at our holiday home in Bournemouth with the whole clan; aunties, uncles, cousins, second cousins, boyfriends, girlfriends, babies, oldies, milkmen the lot.

Whilst i was touched by the turn out, i had spent the previous night in Shoreditch drowning myself in sambucca with friends whilst drawing on the toilet walls in fluorescent nail varnish 'I woz ere noughty 9' needless to say, i was hanging out of my arse.

There's only so many times you can answer the same three questions with a hangover from the pits of hell before you lose it and high five your poor auntie Doris in the nose.

'yes i am excited'
'i stop over in Hong Kong and my flight takes fucking forever'
'no, i'm not just moving to New Zealand for a boy, it's also for the ex-pe-ri-ence'

To make things worse, i had a weeping mother who kept on bursting into tears and asking me if i could 'feel the love' every five minutes. And worst of all, all her crying made me lose my battle witth the throat lump on the final leg at Heathrow airport which meant i had to walk through security with tears and snot streaming down my face. (Duty free Jo Malone helped ease the pain slightly)

And so that was goodbye for a long long time...