Festival season is starting...

 

Attending a festival is not for the faint hearted; I wish somebody had pre-warned me, as I lost my festival virginity, that there would be a 99% chance I’d lose my soul at least three times over the four days and I’d see a ridiculous amount of naked men – more, in fact, then anybody needs to see in their lifetime. Friendships are formed that last forever, festival antics are never mentioned again and your liver never fully recovers but the entire experience is completely worth it.

Glastonbury is like the Mecca for hardcore festival go-ers. Many who have previously walked the muddy paths of Glastonbury lament on the fact that this festival is purely about the experience; it doesn’t matter who headlines because the four days you spend in Somerset are going to be magical, regardless.

Luckily for me, it’s my first Glastonbury this year and I get to spend four whole days soaking up the sights with my own eyes. Previously at festivals, I’ve witnessed bedlam; men crying as they feel the strain of their watered down Strongbow hit them, teenagers gurning as their first taste of illegal substances slithers down their throat, girls fighting over mirrors and enough sunburnt football tattoos to make an entire ‘This is England’ documentary. But Glastonbury is different.

Glastonbury is the mother of all festivals; it’s the Waitrose of the festival world. It has spawned a multitude of other festivals, all with the shared aim of being bigger and better but realistically, Reading, Isle of Wight and Radio 1’s Big Weekend are never going to achieve the status and power Glastonbury has managed to acquire over the years. When the Olympics took over the world last summer, nobody moaned about the public transport. Nope, because instead they were moaning about the absence of Glastonbury highlights featured on their televisions. Other festivals tried their very hardest to compensate the crowds who had given up trying to get tickets for the Olympics but few succeeded – but Glastonbury didn’t even bother to try. There was little point and after all, “absence makes the heart grow fonder” – which is certainly the case as Glastonbury tickets sold out in record time this year.

Providing those lucky enough to have wrangled a ticket with areas such as The Field of Avalon, Shangri-La and Arcadia, Glastonbury organisers have left us truly spoilt for choice when it comes to entertainment location. Each area providing a different concept to the next, each stage acts as a metaphor for society, a state of consciousness.

The main stage is not only a platform for The Rolling Stones to headline the festival; no, it’s a metaphor for the corporate nonsense that hovers over the music industry. It spotlights the battle between those who are driven by money versus those who get off to the fact a crowd of thousands of people know every single one of their lyrics.
Business men put down their iPhones whilst they’re hanging at the main stage, conversations turn from the stock market to how ‘Wild Horses’ got them through their first case of heartbreak. The main stage prompts the eternal question of how long has money driven the music industry for? When did it stop being about the music and instead about the notes in Mick Jagger’s wallet?
As this question clouds your mind, the sound of one of the biggest musical acts to grace this planet drowns out any niggling voices. It doesn’t have to be like that. I can guarantee that the main stage audience will consist of people who rarely have to worry about money. When the bartender demands £7.50 for a pint of cheap cider, they’ll be the ones to give him £10, along with a drunken slur of “keep the change”. They paid for The Rolling Stones to give them a good time and that’s exactly what they’ll have.

But Glastonbury screams variety and if the main stage doesn’t tickle your fancy, there’s numerous other areas to pick from. The Silver Waves stage will be home to the likes of Nas, Rudimental and David Rodigan as crowds of people embrace the pairing of culture and music. Beats will play out as those who are usually seen filling the streets of Notting Hill come carnival time get down and dirty in the fields of Glastonbury. From what I’ve heard about this stage, I’m half expecting to see Red Stripe being sold by the dozen and 20 something year olds grinding on people they wouldn’t look twice at normally. But that’s the beauty of the festival – you lose sight of your inhibitions, no longer afraid of letting yourself go. After all, what happens at Glastonbury stays at Glastonbury…

People look different at Glastonbury; it’s about self-expression, freedom and individuality; three things which the festival itself screams.
It’s a meeting of the masses, an entanglement of races, religions, genders and sexualities. Nobody questions anyone and all are united by their difference.
There are hipster teenagers, middle aged professionals, elderly hippies, tourists, pacifists, Pagans, Christians, intellectuals, bus drivers and children all running around the festival and it is within these people that the beauty of the festival is held. Conversations flow, music accompanying an unlikely pairing of friends.

As hardcore party animals stuff pills into their cheeks like they haven’t eaten for a week, relaxed parents are laying on the grass feeding organic food to their two year old. Glastonbury truly is a meeting of minds, with everyone coming together as their worries melt away: do you really need to go to the toilet; what drugs should you be taking, should you even be taking drugs; which headline act is playing tonight, who clashes with that band you’ve wanted to see for ages; should you really leave your expensive iPod in an unlocked tent; where the hell did you leave your tent and if you’re worrying about these things, should you even be at Glastonbury?

In a simple word, the answer to that question is: YES. You should always be at Glastonbury. I can’t wait to lose my mind with the main stage audience, to bump ‘n’ grind with those getting sweaty to reggae beats, to share a comedown, and a sunset, with people I met hours before. Glastonbury is where all lost souls come together, where the rollercoaster that is your life really gets going. A musical baptism, you haven’t lived until you’ve experienced Glastonbury and I, for one, cannot wait to be enlightened.

Nobody ever plays Alanis Morissette anymore.

9pm walks through London, getting lost because I can't read the map on my phone and ending up having to ask the bouncer of a private club for directions. Tonight was what dreams are made of. Nobody has any idea what I've just been a part of, unless they were with me, but it's the nicest feeling in the world knowing that nobody knows why I'm happy but the smile on my face is making a complete stranger smile. Seeing couples kissing in Oxford Street doesn't make me cringe, it makes me laugh because I've never loved somebody so much that I'd kiss them so openly in the street like that. I have just re-discovered my first love and it's the most beautiful feeling in the world but it's writing and you can't kiss writing in the middle of the street. I would if you could though. 

I had conversations with my heroes and smoked a cigarette with the writer I most want to be like. And the writer I get told I am most like. I told them all about IAmMusic.tv and they laughed because they said everyone wants to change the world but only really determined people do. So I said that I eat determination for breakfast and they smiled, I think because they saw my eyes flash when they questioned my ambitions. Nothing bad happened though and we continued laughing and smoking until it became too cold to do anything but go inside and continue drinking really expensive cocktails that we were getting for free. 

And then lots of people said I write really well and even though I didn't necessarily believe them all, I've got a spring in my step because I've wanted this for a really long time and it feels like tonight, I've finally got it. And I actually sort of deserve it. There's a part of me that thinks I've just got lucky but the other part is telling me that this is what I've been working towards ever since I was 7 when J.K Rowling was my hero. 

So I walk towards a bar in Tottenham Court Road and I'm crying on the phone to my Mum, which never happens and she laughs and tells me off for smoking but is secretly really happy that I did because otherwise I would never have had the conversations that are making me smile and cry at the same time. I walk into the place and the barlady leads me upstairs to the 'Members Only' area and see one of my soulmates. I don't think soulmates should be limited to romantic entanglements, I think they can be anybody you connect with more so than anybody else, somebody who understands why I'm smiling when Alanis Morissette starts playing in this bar. Because nobody ever plays Alanis Morissette anymore, and it feels like it's being played especially for me because tonight is really special. And then we talk about music and drink red wine until lips turn purple and the music becomes louder because downstairs has just turned into a nightclub. For once I don't want to party, and meet boys who say things like "I like you because you're never going to fall in love with me. This is just a one night thing and we both know it, right? I like that about you because you don't want to stay around in the morning." I just want to revel in the fact that tonight has been amazing and I've hung out with pretty much every single person who I look up to and if I haven't hung out with them, I've e-mailed them. 

Driving across London, with the lights illuminating the water and realising that there is literally nothing holding me back anymore. I have e-mail addresses belonging to every single one of my heroes now and if I want to e-mail them to say hi, I can.

Then eating lasagne and drinking tea, nothing making sense because all I can think about is how tonight was just the beginning and I'm surrounded by every single person I imagine 'living the dream' with. I don't think a night will ever be as surreal as this. I'm glad. I'm not even drunk, just a tiny bit tipsy and for once, I don't mind because I don't want to forget this night, ever. I don't want to wake up in the morning with a hangover and cringe as I remember drunkenly telling somebody I shouldn't that I love them and waking up next to somebody I don't even know the name of. I just want to stay in this night forever, sat on the sofa of one of my heroes talking about how life really is beautiful sometimes. 

"'Cause I'm afraid to say that we ain't forever young"

Every so often, it hits me that I'm only nineteen; should I be worrying about paying my bills on time, holding down a full time job and what I'm going to cook for dinner? Should I be spending money on cleaning products and scented candles to make my house more 'cosy'? I should be treating my parents' house like a hotel, studying something pointless at University that won't benefit me at all in later years and will just fund my habit of being stupidly irresponsible when I mix with alcohol. The last thing on my mind should be what day will I find the time to clean my oven and defrost my freezer. Instead, I find myself thinking about my favourite fabric softener and whether I've remembered my keys in the morning.

I moved 64 miles away from my Mum and Dad 11 days before my 19th birthday. I went to bed reading recipe books for the first two weeks and my weekends consisted of washing, ironing and cleaning. When I lived with my parents, my biggest responsibility was remembering to lock the door when I drunkenly stumbled home at 5am. All of a sudden, I was having to remember to put money aside for food and travel and to pay my rent on time. As much as I love the independence and the freedom, I sometimes question why I'm putting myself through the stress of pretending I'm a lot more 'together' than I actually am.

I've come to the conclusion that I like people to think I'm older than my actual age. I don't really get on with people my own age...I don't know why, I never have really, but I'd much rather spend my time with people I admire and respect than another 19 year old talking about how much weed they smoked the night before and how difficult it is trying to work out what they want to do with their life. I already know it's hard to find your own place in the world - I don't need somebody to reiterate it for me. I want people to encourage me, to evoke a confidence inside of me that I never knew existed so that I can truly believe things work out well, to give me advice on how to make things make sense and to inspire me with their wisdom, their adventures and their knowledge.

Because of this, I've always found myself surrounded by people older than me. Be it by two years or twenty, I much prefer having a friendship based on the fact that we both benefit from it and not just because we *should* be friends because we're the same age. One of the things I hated about school was that it automatically placed people in age range as opposed to ability; I've met 13 year olds smarter than most 19 year olds and they just don't get the credit they deserve because they're stuck at a level they've outgrown. Hence why I think being around older people has turned me into a 19 year old with the mind of a 40 year old.

I sometimes find myself forgetting that I was born in 1993 because being surrounded by older people has given me a level of experience and knowledge that a 19 year old shouldn't possess. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, I'm just saying that usually, we should experience certain situations as we mature and (un)fortunately, I've just happened to stumble across them at a younger age because of my friends and who I choose to surround myself with. It works in my favour though because I get the experience but nobody can moan at me because I can throw out the old "I'm only 19, I didn't know what would happen" card; I'm quite grateful that I'm in a position to have the best of both worlds but sometimes it can be a bit of a nightmare. I get myself into situations I don't have the mental capacity to deal with yet and I find myself desperately relying on older friends to help to dig me out of the awkward mess I've managed to stumble into.

As human beings, we're constantly learning and being taught things by the people we encounter (if you open your eyes and ears to their lessons) on a daily basis and it's one of the things I love the most about this crazy thing we call life. I owe a lot of my life experience on friends throwing me into the deep end, ranting at me at 2am in the morning about transfats and individuality, sending me e-mails at 3am about how to be a better person and reminding me, every second of every day, that life is nothing but a beautiful struggle. We have to learn how to enjoy the ride in order to truly appreciate the destination and I just can't imagine really understanding that if I spent my time with people my own age. I'm in a lucky position right now and the things I witness, I only understand because of who I'm with at the time.

I might not be 100% mentally aware of the same things my friends are clued up on but they're teaching me without realising it. They're giving me ammunition to fuel my own fire so that when I'm FINALLY 30, I'm as logical as I can be when it comes to love, life and all that's in between. They've shared their disaster stories, their fairytales and they've dished the dirt on all the gossip along the way and I'm taking it all in with wide eyes and baited breath. I love that they're so willing to teach and to share and if I'm half the person that they are when I reach 30, I will be really fucking happy with myself.

But the difficulty is knowing that I am only 19, right now. As much as I love pretending to be older and experiencing things that other people my own age might not get to experience, I have to remember that I'm not ready to witness certain things or to be part of a particular situation just yet. Some things come with age and maturity. I can't rely on my friends to help me out forever because it'd be unfair to place that kind of responsibility on them. I can, however, ask them to provide me with as much knowledge as they possibly possess so I know when it's acceptable to make mistakes and when I should probably pay more attention to what's around me.

When I question whether I made the right decision in moving away and giving up what could have been at least another year of living responsibility free with my parents, I know I made the right decision. It's about placing yourself out of your comfort zone and following your heart. I'm only able to do these two things because I've learnt, and am still learning, how too from the best kind of people.
I want the knowledge and the experience and the wisdom that I see everyday in the faces of the people I respect the most; I want the 3am e-mails, the conversations that make no sense to anybody else, the nights out where you get in at 7am, the mornings that only ginger and lemon tea can fix, the positivity that seems to only come from people who know themselves and what they truly deserve; I've wanted all of that for a really long while.
I'd also like the skill of knowing when to stop drinking, the ability to say no to people and the courage and bravery that comes with age...but I guess somethings can only be taught over time...

"You're wise already and life is for living. It's exciting but the journey is all part of it."

"What do you want to write about?" "I have no idea."..."That's the best thing you've ever said to me."

"Saturday mornings are made for regretting Friday nights but regrets just turn you bitter" were the words an elderly man said to me on Saturday morning. I was walking through Clapham North, wearing the same clothes as the night before, and it was quite obvious I hadn't removed my make-up from 8 hours previously. Any individual my own age would have looked me in the eye, mentally high fived me and carried on with their day but this man, this slightly crazy man with a beard Dumbledore would envy and tartan trousers covering his skinny legs, looked me in the eye and told me what he thought I wanted to hear. And I did want to hear that I'm not the only person to spend the majority of their Saturday mornings hungover, tired and questioning what really happened the night before. I wanted to hear that he too had spent many early hours of the weekend questioning whether anything had happened the night before that probably shouldn't have or whether my drunken antics would leave me in a state of panic as the day drew to a close. I wanted to hear every single one of his stories...I just didn't want to hear it at 10am, wearing tights I had been wearing for 24 hours.

This elderly man was just looking for somebody to talk too, somebody to listen as he spoke about regrets he held concerning his past loves, his career choices and how he had spent his weekends back in his youth. I just wanted to shower, go back to bed and listen to the Smiths all day. Looking back on the situation now, I wish I had stopped, offered to take him for a coffee and spent the day learning about this stranger; after all, that's how we make friends. Instead, I caught my bus, put my iPod on 'shuffle' and shut myself out from the world for the 25 minute bus journey back to the comfort of my own house.

I found it impossible to forget about the elderly man and for a week now, I've been wondering whether he could see beyond the obvious (24 hour old make-up, screwed up clothes and messy hair) and was telling me what he thought I needed to hear or whether he was just a little crazy and regularly walked around Clapham offering life advice to random strangers.

What I find weird though is how his presence in my life on Saturday morning changed my mindset for a little bit. This led me on to thinking how strange it is that we allow ourselves to be completely transformed by the people we meet throughout this surreal journey we call life. I never used to believe that the people around you could change your entire being so dramatically - I thought that only happened to the weak, not people who had a strong sense of being and a mindset laid out in stone. But overtime, I've realised that only the lucky ones allow themselves to have their world turned upside down by a handful of people they've just met. I've always gained inspiration from those closest to me, mainly because since the age of 16, I've always made sure my role models provided not only a level of positivity but also an education. I want to be taught, I have so much to learn and I'm lucky because I've always found guidance/role models in people with an intelligence I can't even explain.

Even though I barely remember his face, the man at Clapham North opened my very blurry eyes to the fact that I'm one of the lucky ones I mentioned above. Inspiration oozes from the majority of my friends and if it's not inspiration, it's love, creativity and positivity. Be it an e-mail, a text, a phone call, a tweet or a Facebook comment, any form of communication gets my brain whirring and in the last two weeks, I've seen such a positive change within myself, a change I can only put down to purging myself of the negativity I seemed to hoard within my life and opening my arms to the positivity I refused to acknowledge beforehand.

"Your energy has changed Vickers, you can completely see it. You seem different but in a good way."

I'm just being honest with myself now, I've got a long way to go before I'm halfway to where I want to be but I'm manifesting an awful lot to the Universe. If I've been lucky enough to be blessed with such brilliant people surrounding me, I'm pretty sure the Universe can make Caitlin Moran my drinking buddy/writing guru, teach me how to drive in two weeks (and fund the driving lessons) and somehow say thank you to the crazy old man who doesn't even realise how much of an effect his words have had on me. Universe, you rock.

"Whatever happens, let's go on an adventure."

The press hitch-hikers get is something I've never understood; okay, I get that sometimes they can be a bit dangerous - associated with the murder/rape/attack of innocent drivers, just wanting to help out a stranger who seems a bit lost - but I've always loved the spontaneity of a hitch-hiker and admired their sense of adventure. Obviously I'm not talking about the nasty ones, the ones who hitch-hike for no reason other than to cause harm, I'm talking about the ones who get a bit fed up of their day job and decide it's time for a change, the ones who throw caution to the wind and allow the gear stick of somebody else to take them to a brand new destination. I realise I've romanticised the life of a hitch-hiker somewhat but there's a huge part of me that would love to be as daring (some would say stupid...) as I imagine you'd have to be to stand on the side of the road, come rain or shine, in order to reach some place new.

If you'd have asked me last week what I'd be doing at 2am on Sunday morning, I probably would have said I'd be drunk. It's just a given these days. However, in actual fact, I was sat in the back of a Mini Cooper, driving through Clapham South with two of my favourite people and a drunk Australian guy named Ash. I was sober and the car belonged to my friend - before anyone panics - but we had just picked Ash up from the side of the road and suddenly, our Saturday night/Sunday morning turned into something only really, really strange dreams are made of.

Five hours before picking this random Australian dude up from outside a Texaco garage, we had been partying at the o2, watching the likes of Professor Green and Misha B tear up Indigo for Musicalize; we dressed up, drunk overpriced vodka and sung every single lyric to 'Read All About It' with our only care in the world being that our feet hurt a little bit from the heels we insisted on wearing. When the night ended, we walked back to North Greenwich station debating over who the hottest member of One Direction is (Harry Styles, obviously) and confessing our love for Professor Green. To say I was ready to get home, put a pizza in the oven and crawl into bed would be an understatement, having had a really messy night the night before, but it was at this moment as I was imagining demolishing a huge 'Thin & Crispy' that the craziness struck...

I write for a blog called IAmMusic.TV and it's  run by somebody called Carly Wilford; I've known her for just over a year and I think I've finally got my head around her spontaneity, fearlessness and possible mental illness (I'm just throwing it out here but after reading what I'm about to write, you'll understand why I say this). As I said goodbye to two of my friends at the station, my friend Fran staying with me, I received a call from a certain Ms. Wilford, the only words I really remember being "whatever happens, let's go on an adventure." As we headed back to Carly's to formulate some sort of plan, none of us knowing what the rest of the night held and my stomach saying goodbye to the thousands of calories I had promised it earlier on in the night, I realised I had just signed up to one of Carly's infamous nights out; to explain them would take too long and it's practically impossible to even try to make some sense of the nights spent in her company but they normally take a while to recover from and nobody really mentions them afterwards.

It's important to point out here that Fran, mentioned above, is from Eastbourne and had only met Carly the night before at a LoveDough event. It's also important to point out that Carly's house, or kitchen rather, has been taken over by mice - well, one mouse called Frank - who Carly has taken a shine too. He's not moving out anytime soon.

With the rain battering on the windows, a huge ladder in my tights and one of my false eyelashes falling off, us three girls (Frank was probably involved as well) sat on the sofa drinking tea and telling stories of past relationships, sex, regrets and sharing secrets. Carly admitted to telepathically talking to Frank (see above for mention of mental illness...) and I voiced concern about a rather personal subject that need never be mentioned again. Except in personal messages via Facebook, Twitter and an occasional text; after hearing Carly's confession about conversing with a pest, I'm 100% not worried about anything going on with me.

Make-up wipes came out, the tea turned into flavoured hot chocolate and the conversation became more and more personal as the night went on. Surrounded by somebody I've known for four years who knows me inside out and probably the best 'boss' you could ask for, I realised how lucky I am to know such awesome people. I could openly discuss everything currently taking place in my pants without a care in the world and although it's making me question my own mental health, I didn't even bat an eyelid when telepathically talking to mice came up in conversation.

At 2.00am, we clambered into Carly's Mini Cooper, ready for bed after spending hours gossiping and drinking too much tea, really not expecting anything unusual to happen on the drive back from Clapham South to Streatham.
The rain was pouring but as we started driving, we made out a hitch-hiker on the side of the road; he was trying to flail down a taxi, with no such luck, and it started to look as though the pints he had consumed earlier were taking their toll and he was staggering in and out of the road. "Let's pick him up!" came out of my mouth before I even had a chance to think about the possibilities of being put at harm by such a stupid comment. I looked at Carly, she looked at me and we both looked at Fran as "Okay!" filled the car and within seconds, we had made a (probably considered illegal) turn and were heading back to pick up our adventure seeking friend.

Now before anyone panics, I AM alive to tell the tale and so is everyone involved in the story (I hope...we haven't seen Ash since). God Bless the man who even attempts to take on three girls in a Mini Cooper at 2.30am in the morning. There was no consideration to whether or not this stranger could be dangerous - we were doing our good deed for the day and collecting good karma. Imagine being stood in the rain with no money for a cab and no idea as to where you're standing, let alone where you're even going. Your options are to give up and take shelter in a nearby bus stop or pray that three mentalists in a Mini Cooper are driving past, with a tendency for making rash decisions and just wanting to make the world a better place, one drunk Australian guy at a time.

We had no idea what madness would entail when Ash got into the car but as we sat parked up outside a house in Tooting Bec, talking about oral sex for fingers and moving across the globe in the name of love, I, for one, was pretty glad we picked this stranger up. I get a feeling of immense gratitude at the most random of times and at this very moment, I felt nothing but a surge of love for the people involved in everything to do with this night. I'm lucky I'm surrounded by people who 'get me', even if one of them I'd just met and will probably never see again. I never used to believe that the people around us can shape us into the people we're supposed to be but I totally agree with this now. Ash taught me that sometimes, an adventure is all you need, even if you're suffering from a broken heart. We found out he had moved to London from Melbourne because he had fallen in love with an English girl he had lived with for 14 months. Two months after he moved to London, she broke up with him and he had no option but to move on. He got a job bar-tending and with only six months left on his Visa, really doesn't want to go back to Australia. I found myself offering marriage as a way to let him stay in the country, allowing him to potentially find another love in London and finish the love story he had originally hoped for.

He agreed but we soon became distracted by two foxes flirting with each other and as the conversation jumped from serious to crazy within seconds, nobody really knowing what any of us were doing in the car in the early hours of Sunday morning, we realised it was probably time to head back to reality. After 'squiding' us (we assumed it was an Australian, or just an Ash, form of foreplay - you tickle somebody with your mouth so they squirm like a squid...), Ash left the car, thanking the three mental girls who had probably just saved him from being squished in the middle of Clapham South.

We are never going to see Ash again; numbers weren't exchanged and I couldn't remember where we dropped him off if you paid me, but for those couple of hours on Sunday morning, I realised sitting with Ash has actually taught me a lot;-

1) Never be afraid to chase love around the globe. It could potentially end badly but regardless of the outcome, you'll end up a much stronger person.
2) Foxes flirt like children in a playground.
3) Saturday nights spent drinking cherry hot chocolate and gossiping need to happen more often.
4) You learn a lot from listening to others, even if they are drunk and slurring their words.
5) Hitch-hikers aren't always bad. Sometimes, they're just intoxicated and skint from spending their money on too many Jagerbombs.
6) Communicating with mice via telepathy is possible...
7) Always trust Carly when she promises an adventure.

"And in that moment, I swear we were infinite."

I'm not very good at writing about people I care about. I think it's because to do this, you have to attach a certain amount of emotion to your writing and that scares me because I think emotion is over-rated. I like to romanticise situations and over-exaggerate characteristics and although the people I care about are as colourful and magical as they come without my editing, it'd be unfair to try to alter their personalities just because I find it difficult to remain 'at one' with my feelings. Previously, I've tried to write like every single word has come straight from my heart, leaking onto the page through a papercut on the tip of my finger caused by a Proust novel, but despite my efforts, I can't help but press the 'backspace' button on my laptop keyboard. I don't know if this is because something about writing like this, this type of writing, sits uncomfortably with me or whether I'm scared of how the people I'm writing about are going to react to my honest, no-holding-back, warts and all technique of writing, when they're so used to seeing me tipsy from too many rum and cokes, using sarcasm as a method of protection, to prevent myself from letting my guard down. I still haven't worked out which...

After watching 'Perks of being a Wallflower', I've decided to give the unedited, honest style of writing a go to see whether I'm suddenly hit with the reason for hiding behind sarcasm, song lyrics and scattering John Lennon quotes throughout my writing. There's a line in the film (or book, if you're a longstanding POBAW fan and not just jumping on the bandwagon because Hermione from Harry Potter stars in the film) where Patrick says to Charlie "you see things. You keep quiet about them. And you understand. Welcome to being a wallflower." and when I heard this line, I knew I had to write. This line marks a form of initiation for Charlie into the group of 'wallflowers' and although my brain is slightly addled from too many cold and flu tablets, I understood exactly what that time of initiation is like; to be accepted by a group of people so effortlessly cool, deemed as 'misunderstood' by the rest of the world looking in because mentally, they're ahead of the game, with their music taste and their dress sense and the tattoos symbolising spirituality.

Throughout school and college, my group of friends were always seen as outcasts (or weirdos...); we listened to music people hadn't heard off, became vegans/vegetarians for fun and developed huge crushes on Hugh Grant. We merged as a group because we came together in all of our individuality, too young to really know what to do with this...power. Except back then, it wasn't a power and being individual wasn't necessarily seen as a good thing. However, when I look back now, I wouldn't change any of the fashion statements (the green hair and peace signs drawn on my face in lilac eyeliner), the music or the adventures that took place for the world because they prepared me to embrace the 'wallflower' title. But then I left college and entered reality and it became difficult to embrace the individuality. I soon realised that the 'real world' is less accepting than naive 14 year olds and originality tends not to be encouraged. I knew I wanted to be a writer but my little seaside town lacked the opportunity and in turn, the people lacked ambition and the ability to dream.

When I moved to London, I explored places like Camden and Hackney and watched, with wide eyes, how people embraced their wallflower titles, how they merged and that tiny wallflower became a bouquet of absolute beauty, fuelled not by fertiliser but by a shared aspiration. I so badly wanted to be apart of this culture, the culture keen to embrace one another's flaws and every single idea, the culture my small town so badly needed. Not long after this, I met the people to complete my bunch, the rest of the wallflowers who fit into my bouquet perfectly, the individuals with their own crazy ideas bigger than my own. It was as if the King of Individuality, David Bowie, just knew that we'd blossom together.

In turn, I've become a part of one of the greatest teams known to man; the IAmMusic.TV crew are unlike anybody else I've ever met. A bit like the Lost Boys and Peter Pan, we share this burning passion to change the world by using our powers/talents/minds for good, instead of evil.

We're the opposite of being wallflowers but being accepted into the IAmMusic.TV team, for me, felt a bit like how I imagine Charlie felt when the wallflowers gave him his initiation into their group. It is the greatest and most comforting feeling to know that whatever happens, you have a group of people willing to accept you for your flaws, your mentaliity and your passion. It's different to being part of a friendship group originating from school because you grow together within that sort of situation, whereas with the IAmMusic.TV team,we've already done the majority of our educating, seperately, and now we're just merging together to cram the last bits of knowledge we need in order to take over the world. We get each other, we understand every single person's mindset and there's nothing but support involved.

The confirmation of this for me was New Years Eve; the site has been live for just over a year and things are going well. IAmMusic.TV hold a live night, once a month, where the team get to hang out and put the world to rights over large quantities of alcohol and live music. Through these nights, we've come to know each other pretty well, we've seen each other drunk and we've swapped secrets. But New Years Eve was different. We said goodbye to 2012 and welcomed in 2013 huddled together on Tower Bridge. We made ridiculous memories, silly catchphrases and as the sun began to rise on January 1st 2013, we witnessed each other at our most vulnerable - with a fresh year ahead of us and brand new foundations to lay, realisation that we had already started to build our own empire, together, began to set in.

For me, I knew I had stumbled across something pretty special when I proceeded to vomit in the kitchen sink after too many vodka shots and after cleaning up, carried on dancing with the rest of the team. Nobody commented on the fact that I probably smelt a bit disgusting or that I couldn't handle my drink (to be fair, I totally can...just not vodka), we just carried on laughing and taking photos of a night none of us would remember in the morning. 

It's about knowing that I could admit to something really embarrassing or shameful and instead of being greeted with eyes full of judgement, I'll be greeted with a sarcastic comment, a hug and a glass of something really strong. It's about being surrounded by people who understand my stupid moods and yet still have my back. The people who let me make my mistakes, knowing I'll learn from them, as opposed to stopping me and stunting my emotional and mental development. Most of all, it's about knowing I can write this and the people I intentionally didn't name will know this is about them and instead of cringing at how honest this has been, how open this huge public display of affection is, they'll comment on my antics from New Years Eve or  another member of the team's confessions. 

These are the people I'm going to write about when I'm old and grey, the people I imagined meeting all those years ago when I felt like I couldn't possibly be the only person in the world to hate Rihanna, the people who make me be a better version of myself, the ones I couldn't imagine life without now. 

This might just be another story someday but I couldn't think of a group of people I'd rather write about.

“I think the idea is that every person has to live for his or her own life and then make the choice to share it with other people. Maybe that is what makes people "participate.” 

We are the wreckless, we are the wild youth chasing visions of our future.

As 2012 comes to a close, I'm sat in my bedroom at my parents house wondering how the hell I've ended up exactly where I am right now; when I entered 2012, I was in Oxford with my best friend, her boyfriend, a very cute boy and 10 other strangers. I wasn't drunk but at 2am, I did cocaine with previously mentioned cute boy and fell asleep half naked in his Smurfs t-shirt. I was in a strange house and it was my first New Years without my family around me but I think, just maybe, I entered 2012 with a bang. I had no expectations for the year ahead which was a first for me and when somebody asked me what I wanted to get from the next 12 months, I think I answered with "ridiculously drunk". Wow.

Despite sticking to my word and spending the majority of the past 12 months absolutely hammered, I've made some pretty awesome memories:
Moving to London, experiencing my first taste of being on a 'press list' and absolutely loving in, seeing amazing musicians perform live, being involved in such a beautiful team with IAmMusic.tv, the ups and downs of relationships, meeting somebody who changed my outlook on love entirely, watching my writing escalate and finally understanding just why I love it so much, seeing one of my close friends embrace motherhood and watching her baby grow into the most beautiful, innocent little person ever, appreciating my passion and learning how to use it properly, falling in love with London's transport system, watching my relationship with my Mum flourish, having my own house with the best housemates I could have possibly wished for, spending the night on the sofa of an ex 'pop-star' off my face and talking about music and politics, days wasted in bed next to somebody I really love (even now, in the bitter aftermath), exploring London, V Festival, Play it Forward, waking up in a friend's bed with a dry mouth and no memory of the night before, Boris Bikes, breakfast in Clapham South, realising who is worth my time and effort, getting to grips with every single lesson I've learnt in 2012 and attempting to take notes along the way. It's been a busy year.

I've also met some AMAZING people, individuals who I can't even begin to write about because there's too much to say but I'm certain they know who they are...
I should also point out that only a number of people I've met in previous years have remained through to 2012 and it's those people who I'm truly grateful for. They've known me long enough to understand my flaws and they've accepted me for them which is something only great people are capable of.

I've had one of the loveliest, most stressful, inspiring, busiest, eye-opening years I've had yet and when I reflect upon the last 12 months, nothing but a smile comes to my face. I have a lot of expectations riding on 2013 because I'm determined to make it something extraordinary but right now, I wish nothing but a kick ass New Years Eve for everyone and a lot of happiness, laughter, love and wisdom to be carried through to 2013.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx