Dunce.

"Hello Children,

I'm your teacher's Grandfather and I am 88 years old, so I've had a full life and seen a lot of changes in my lifetime, along the way.

Your teaching today is so different from when I was a boy. I still can't understand computers, the new type of phones and the way your taught today, so you should consider yourselves so lucky. I'm afraid I was a bit of a dunce and got the cane a few times, but it did me no harm.

So learn all you can about everything in life, and you will all grown up good citizens.

Goodbye, Jim Ford"



I received this letter today, from my Grandad, as an appendix to the letter he had sent me. Although written with the intention of inspiring and educating young German children, I see no reason why it shouldn't inspire everyone, young and old. Although grammatically incorrect, the words ring so true and clear and honest, that you cannot fail to take notice of their message.

What do you take from these five sentences of gold? Replaying the last sentence in my head over and over, guilt pangs shake through my chest. No, I'm wrong - not guilt pangs. 'Pang' suggests a nice gentle acoustic guitar rocking you to sleep; this feeling is not that. I mean a guilt trombone is blaring it's brassy tones somewhere near my heart, with an elbow in my lungs and foot in my stomach for added effect. Yes, this guilt trombone is making me nicely uncomfortable.

"So learn everything you can about everything in life" - I know it's meant sincerely. I know it means, work hard because you have been given everything and you have no excuse. It means, you are not hungry and you are not at war and you are safe and you are warm - grasp the education you have been offered and bleed it dry. It means, I didn't have your opportunities, take advantage of your youth and freedom.

An entire 88 years on this planet summarised with the line, "I've had a full life and seen a lot of changes." Take from that what you will, but if this 'full life' includes a war, raising two children (not to mention five grandchildren and two great-grandchildren) whilst maintaining a 60-odd year marriage, then I am humbled to the core that it can be reduced to ten words so nimbly, and am listening with open ears and heart to whatever advice can be exchanged.



And yes, he is my Grandfather so of course I take this personally. But no, that is not the only reason. Take away his name and there are millions of men and women with the exact same story. Our grandparents. They changed this world for better or worse; they structured the society in which we live. Their lives have given way for our lives to exist. And now they are telling us to work hard. Work really hard and be good people.

Now, if that's not a kick up the arse, I don't know what is.

Take Heart.

This post is for everyone planning their year abroad, or anticipating an upcoming adventure which will take them to unknown realms, in every way possible. Change is on the horizon and you have every reason to be excited, although at present you may be terrified.

This time last year, I did not think about my impending move to Germany, land of the sausage, too much. I pushed it to the back of my mind and was neither excited, nor scared. It was something I had to do as part of my course, and was not too fussed about it.

Be fussed.

Because I was not bothered by the whole event until it was too late, I did not cash into the unlimited chances to brag about what I was doing with my life. With this in mind, I have written a list of must do things for the months before you leave. Yes, there may be 7 or 8 months left in your home country, but that is no reason not to show off.

1. Let the anticipation keep you awake at night and spend hours Googling the place you will live, imagining yourself in that environment..."And here's where I will buy icecream on sunny days, and here's where I'll be all bohemian and hip and smoke French cigarettes and drink expensive coffee whilst pretending to write my diary but actually just doodle pictures of cats, and here's the bar I'll call my local but never embarrass myself in...". This hobby is ideal for May, when you should be revising. Hours worth of procrastination.

2. Annoy everyone you meet with reports about how brave and proactive you are. "Yes, I do speak German. No, I do not want to be a teacher. Yes, I study the language for the sheer purpose of being a better and more interesting human. Yes, I will be living alone. No, I do not know anyone in the area I am moving to." There is nothing more annoying than a smug 20-something year old who's doing something useful with their life. Once you are here, you will realise that there are a lot more interesting and brave people in the world, so pre-move is your only chance to utilise this.

3. Plan your time wisely. Use the summer to earn a ton of cash, because it will evaporate into the magical money vortex before you can whisper 'Guten Tag'. You are living abroad for a year, you do not want to be scrimping and saving and worrying about whether you can afford to go on that wicked trip to the Alps next weekend. Remember, you are here so you can upload one million photos to Facebook, and be the envy of all your friends at home. Photos require a certain amount of capital, unless you steal them from someone else's travel blog and claim them as your own.

4. Remind everyone on a daily basis that, "this time next year..." you will be doing something that sounds WAY more fun than what you are all doing at that point. Make them realise they will miss you by pointing out that although this year's Christmas preparations were really fun, next year you will be trolling round Christmas markets to the dulcet tones of German choir boys singing 'Oh Tannenbaum', off your rocker on too much Glühwein. Guaranteed to tug at the heart-strings of every family member and close friend.

5. Unleash your inner, hidden hipster. In all honesty, what on earth could be more hip or arty than moving to another country?! All you have to do is look back in history to see that all the best arty types sodded off to the Continent when life got too hard in old Blighty. Take inspiration; buy a beret or bowler hat, invest in a moleskin sketchbook or journal, and do not leave the house without a small volume of Romantic poetry. Just these items alone will up your art-output by 74%.

Take heart adventurers - your move will be revolutionary.

Airports.

I loathe airports, and so it would seem, airports loathe me too.

I may have had an eenie weenie mishap whilst trying to get back into the UK last month, which resulted in me sitting, hysterically laughing for want of not crying, in the naughty girls' immigration pen at Gatwick Airport at 11pm. Oops.

After smugly trolling off of the aeroplane and gulping down fine British air (mmmm so sooty, mmmm can you smell that Sam? Petrol!), and meandering my way to Passport control, I was presented with the horrifying knowledge that my treasured passport was, in fact, not in my bag. Nor was it anywhere to be found on my person.

Running in a manner that can only be defined as elegant and athletic, I legged it back to the aeroplane. Well, in the direction I thought the aeroplane would be in. I did make it to my required destination in break-neck speed, but this also meant that I caused a major security breach in that wing of the airport; yes, I did the unthinkable. Faced with an unopenable one-way security door, knowing that my ticket to the UK was 'undoubtably' behind, and seeing a small glass faced boxed entitled, 'Break in cases of Emergency' - I broke the glass. It was an emergency.

Cue the loudest alarms you have ever heard.

Never in my life have I run faster. Blood tearing through my body and alarms tearing through my ear drums and panic scorching my chest and tears searing my eyes, I finally made it back to Passport Control and a very angry boyfriend. Passportless, hopeless, and very nearly boyfriendless, I made my sorry way to the security guards who put me in the naughty girls' pen.

Now, I know no-one will believe me, but I am a passport fanatic. I always know where it is, even when too much gin magic has been consumed. No-one else is entrusted to the honour of holding it, let alone looking after it. So, you can well imagine my absolute desperate case whilst sitting less than 10 metres from the UK Border. The men chastising me would not believe me, 'Another bloody stupid girl', and as Sam sauntered past the border to collect our bags, I felt a little bubble of whale tear material bubble up my throat.

The worst is yet to come.

Approximately 20 minutes later, we opened Sam's bag to get a bottle of water, and my passport (the promiscuous tease) was loitering at the top of it, midst magazines and other useful items. I screamed, held it above my head as if it were a prize winning lottery ticket and let a crowd of delirious American tourists applaud my find. I think it is safe to say that they were the only ones applauding my efforts that night.

Sorry Gatwick. Sorry tired security guards. Sorry Sam.