NOW That's What I Call 2012!

Bong. Bong. Bong.

The clock strikes midnight. 1st January 2013. Shock Horror...Charlotte isn't crying.

Rarely does a New Years Eve countdown pass by without a compulsory midnight breakdown complete with spluttering tears and bouts of confused laughter coming from my sorry direction. It has become quite the tradition (and a back-catalogue of embarassing photos) that come 12 O'Clock, as if out of nowhere, I burst into tears. Why you wonder? Well I know New Years is a time for celebration but it is the extent of build up to such a celebration that completely overwhelms me, that and the combination of bottles of wine and the knowledge that yet another eventful year has come to an end results in one over-emotional 22 year old. Thus, as the chimes of old Big Ben echo dramatically around the wooping and hollering group of 9 loved ones, friends are left puzzled as they ask, 'Are you crying Charlotte? Why aren't you crying?". And to tell you the truth, I was as much confused as they were. Not an inkling of water shed from my eyes. Not even endless montages of Mo Farah crossing the finishing line at the Olympics could set me off and ordinarily, the mere sight of the 'Mobot' is enough!

Undeniably, this is the first year where I have openly expressed my desire to see the back of it but equally, 2012 was probably my most monumental yet, complete with my proudest achievement to date, excitement for the Olympics and endless memories of antics in Amsterdam. Sadly, the combination of the disapointment of withdrawing from my course to train to be a Primary School Teacher and a battle with anxiety has tainted my fondness of the year gone by. So here instead, I am taking the first steps to fulfil my New Year's Resolution, not to dwell on the past or worry about the future and have comprised a selection of my favourite highlights of 2012, a year that will undoubtedly go down in History. And when people ask, 'What were you doing when London hosted the Olympics 2012?', I can say with great pride, all of this...

Sorry I just need to go and get a tissue. *Blubs*


Graduation

"Charlotte Joanna Turner with First Class Honours."

I stumble onto the walkway, gripping my sweaty toes deep into my nude coloured heels. 'Please don't fall over, please don't fall over', I repeat over and over in my head. I'm walking up to collect my English Language and Linguistics degree at the prestigious Canterbury Cathedral knowing that three years of hard-work and a 10,000 word dissertation later, has got me to this point and yet all I can think about is not collapsing in a heap on the historic church floor infront of hundreds of glaring spectators. Despite making a pit-stop for emergency insoles after discovering that my new 'sensible' shoes were two sizes too big and even after warning the fellow graduate behind me to walk s-l-o-w-l-y so as not to catch me up, the Graduating Class of 2012 video on the University website has continued to reassure me, that despite my best efforts, I did indeed collect my certificate like a complete and utter duck!

New Additions

Say hello to Henley. This little chap is the newest adorable addition to an already brimming family of ever-growing little ones. Throughout 2012 I loved being kept updated through the wonders that is Facebook of the antics of my younger cousins. Whether that be news of Award-Winning Young Writers or Gangnam-Style dancing Super Heroes, they continue to keep me thoroughly entertained!

Amsterdam

Probably the most I laughed all year. A trip to celebrate a friend's 21st Birthday and the trip that coined the phrase, 'YOLO!'. Complete with death rides on Tuk Tuk's, questionable Muffins, befriending foreign Americans, dodging bicycles, falling up stairs, falling down stairs, getting locked in toilets and being scarred by the sights of one man I don't wish to remember. The weekend bananza was...cultural to say the least but one I will never forget!

Mallorca

Crowding over one blitchy phone, strangers united in hope and pride watch anxiously as Mo Farah runs down the home straight. "Come on Mo, go Mo", people shout. Can it be possible that he becomes a double Olympic Champion?

And the crowd go wild!

We're in the queue waiting to board our plane home. It'd killed me to spend a week away from London forced to stream the Olympics on a dodgy, not very sufficient I-Phone app but if there was anywhere I'd have to be that wasn't London during this momentous time, it was Palma de Mallorca. I'd spent a glorious week with my boyfriend and parents within the family holiday resort of Puerto Pollensa, alternating between serious sunbathing and legging it upstairs to our apartment to catch highlights of the Olympics complete with Spanish commentary. Whilst I may not have been in my home country as Super Saturday kicked off, who else can say they were sipping Pina Coladas in 30 degree heat as they watched Jessica Ennis win Gold?

Fancy Dress

With the help of 21st Birthday parties, the Golden Jubilee and a Come Dine With Me special, 2012 saw the transformation of four normal girls from Essex into a multitude of characters. From old Grannies to Katy Perry, French Tourists to Greek Goddesses, there were enough wigs, face paint and fancy dress to rival the Village People!

 

 

 

Here's to a happy and healthy 2013!

Strictly Come Skating

The first step is the worst. Ice, freshly polished, looking for it's first slippery victim. And boy was I going to make sure it wasn't me! I grip onto the sides praying to stay upright, fellow skaters wimper and wobble around me as they do their best new baby lamb impressions. In a bid to not be pulled down by the Bambis amongst us, I let go of the hand rail sooner than desired and seized Will's hand, refusing to let go.

We were at Somerset House, carrying out our annual ice-skate. Every year as a Christmas present, Will takes me ice-skating. I guess it's become somewhat of a tradition that once a year we adopt our best Torvill and Dean personas and tackle the ice, usually bum-first. This was our first time within the historially impressive scenery of Somerset House and I can't help but imagine the past Kings and Queens, Servants and Saints that have graced the ancient Tudor grounds. The Tudor era is the period of History that I find most captivating, much of my interest probably owed to the fact that when I was 8, I dressed up as a Tudor Servant for a school trip to a place called Kentwell where you were transported back to a time of Jesters, Corsets and where men wore codpieces to accentuate their own Crown Jewels! And let's face it, who doesn't love a bit of Henry VIII and his headless lady drama.

Anyway, my yearly ice-skating practice was proving beneficial and despite spending much of my time dodging nifty thirteen-year-olds and precarious old men, my confidence was growing. In fact, after busting some questionable skating pair work with my occasional wobbler of a boyfriend, my confidence soon meant I was happy to let go of Will's hand and zoom around the rink all by myself, imagining I was the latest cast member of Dancing On Ice, (A massive improvement from last year let me tell you!). I don't envy those celebs mind you. Every time I managed to build up the slightest bit of speed, I pictured myself toppling head first into the blades of the person infront of me. And those upside down lifts! I'm a liability in heels let alone ice-skates. Good Luck Lauren Goodger that's all I'm saying.

"5 more times round then we'll go in", I said to Will as he checked his watch. So around we went 5 more times.

"Ok, just 1 more", then another and another.

It was only until my confidence became a cocky attempt to swerve from side to side, hands behind my back battling with my balance so as not to face plant the floor, did I realise it really was time to stop. Maybe in another 10 years of Christmas Ice-Skating will I be able to master that!

Do they know it's Christmas time at all?

'Twas the morning of Christmas day, 9 O'Clock to be precise. Not a peep can be heard from the Turner household. Band Aid were right when they asked, 'Do they know it's Christmas time at all?' I poke my slightly disillusioned head above and out of my quilt. He's been! Santa has been!

Traditionally I have always been the first of the Turner family to rise on Christmas morning, opting as a child to camp out on my sister's bedroom floor in order to ensure I had a partner in crime to wake up my parents with come 7 O'Clock (one year by dancing to 5,6,7,8 on their bed, Steps being the CD Santa considered appropriate that year, I'm sure 'he' regretted that later). 2012 was no different although thanks to the two Pinot Grigios consumed earlier that morning, I'd awoken later than usual without any excitable breaks in sleep but with a slightly sore head (lightweight I know) and with less inclination to bust out the boot scootin baby. 'I guess I really am growing up', I thought to myself. I no longer felt the need to hover outside my parents door, willing myself to go in and see if it was time to open presents. You see that was always my job. Despite deploying a partner in crime in the form of my older sister, it always seemed to be me carrying out the crime itself! Me the one having to barge in on my parents at half 6 to wake them up. Me the one rummaging under beds or on top of wardrobes for not very well disguised presents whilst she kept watch. There's always a dodgy dance that comes with such activities too. There's the overactive head bop when searching for presents and the tentative two-step when debating the right time to wake the parents, hovering back and forth over that one squeaky floorboard trying not to make a sound. Then once I'd built up enough courage to bravely enter, I'd be told that it's too early and I'll have to do it all again in half an hour!

Years may pass but the surge of butterflys I get when seeing the Christmas tree surrounded by sparkly wrapping paper, bows and gift bags remain. Don't get me wrong, the thought of receiving presents in the shape of cosy jumpers, shiny jewellery and tickets to the NTA Awards (erm, hello Derms O'Leary), is enough to rival Buddy the Elf, the excitement of giving gifts to others you'd agonised long and tirelessly over is what I really look forward to. God I really am growing up! Saying that however, me and my soon to be 26 year old sister, still receive stockings from Father Christmas. As usual Santa was very generous to me this year, gifts including a Snowman Pandora charm, lots of Topshop favourites and Boo the Cutest Dog in the World (if only he was real). Some less so desirable presents included 'plop' trumps which consist of, well you can guess what it consisted of, and a Tom Daley calendar, whom whilst adorable in a 'ahh look at you in your little speedos' kind of way, I cannot have pinned half-naked on my wall all year long. Sorry Mum but bloggers, look out for a Tom Daley Calendar giveaway coming soon to Charlotte's Web!!

Now after pigging out and stuffing my face all day yesterday, I have to go and polish off the mountain of profiteroles left festering in the fridge. They go off tomorrow, it'd be rude not to!

Hope you all had lovely Chrimbo festivities!

P.S Check out one of the right royal guests who made a brief appearance at dinner, well atleast when we played 'Who am I?' anyway.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

 

Having got the need to hunt down some bargains out of my system (slightly) with a spot of online sale shopping this morning, I am eagerly anticipating the arrival of Mr.Claus. I was obviously channelling the dark, wintery gothic look when I opted for these items below, both Topshop, midst in panic. Although the satisfaction of finding bargains is great, the process in which I do so, I find extremely stressful. Online sales means a lot of faffing and I usually end up making horrendous decisions under the pressure of wishing not to miss out, yes last year's wax fur jacket horror I am talking to you! This year however, I feel happy in my buys, both of which I've been eyeing up a lot during recent shopping trips. The playsuit could work wonders with a chunky sparkly necklace and the sequin top is timeless. Just need some fancy nights out in which to sample them!

Now after a couple of festive drinks at our local, I am tucked up, slightly tipsy and ready for the festivities to begin! I guess there is nothing left for me to say but

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
 

Now maybe just a little bit more sales shopping before bedtime...

Shhh...Not So Secret Santa

Every year me and my three favourite little elves do Secret Santa. Well I say 'secret', whilst there was an attempt to begin along those lines during the first pressie exchange 3 years ago, it wasn't long before the secret aspect of Secret Santa went well, right down the chimney! (har har) So now it's merely Santa or not so Secret Santa as I like to call it.

 

Usually we hijack a restaurant in order to trade gifts but this year due to lack of funds, we opted for a night in surrounded by your traditional Christmas dinner (a Curry of course) and some cheap and cheerful Cava! Digging out our favourite Christmas jumpers or in some cases, interpretations of such (X stands for Xmas duh?) with a dash of tinsel and a festive red lip, we were ready to go! Ho Ho Ho!

 

Although a budget of £15-£20 is placed on present spending prior to present buying, budgets tend to go well, right down the chimney! (I know I made that joke already but it's a Christmas cracker!) In my 'not so Secret Santa' stocking this year, lucky me received some truly festive-inspired Elmo PJs which I've been living in ever since, ginger-bread patterned socks perfect for people obsessed with ginger-bread men, i.e. ME and a pair of deliciously scented bath bombs from LUSH. Other recipients of their not so Secret Santas were treated with pressies such as leopard print cat slippers (Topshop £14) and Bruno Mars' 'Unorthodox Jukebox' album (HMV £10). Whilst the list doesn't end there, it does get progressively wierder, items including undergarments, a YOLO jumper and a tarot card table scarf were also unwrapped!

(Don't you wanna be in our gang?....)

P.S. I thought I'd share with you some shots of before and after pictures of us we found when a little too much wine inevitably became nostalgia city!

 

 

 

Mission: Christmas Shopping Impossible

"Erm, excuse me love, can I get to the machine?"

 

It's 5:30 pm and I'm sitting on a 'do it yourself' photo developing machine stool in Boots, Covent Garden, applying blister plasters to my ravaged feet. Onlookers snigger at the sight of my swollen battle scars; socks, boots, shopping bags afray. At that moment in time I gave the saying 'shop till you drop' whole new realms of meaning and yet I was merely adjusting my armour, preparing to march on, choosing to rejoin the thousands of other last-minute shopping soldiers (or morons, you decide!) to continue on in our quest for the perfect gifts. Why do we do it?

 

From Marble Arch to Covent Garden, Tottenham Court Road to Carnaby Street, me and my comrade in arms (my Mother), set out around midday to brave the battlefield of London and did not cease until 9 o'clock later that evening. Our battle however, was not in vain. After procrastinating in Marble Arch drooling over some beautiful items in Topshop (See previous post), we fought through the crowds of hungry elves in Selfridges to reach the maze of confectionary, the perfect supplement to those presents, i.e. those singing reindeer socks for your Dad, that need just that little something extra. Here we met our first enemy. A woman attempting to sell gourmet jelly beans in the most underwhelming manner imaginable.

 

"Get your Jelly Bellys, everyone loves a Jelly Belly, it's not Christmas without them!"

 

Firstly, I am allergic to jelly beans so a tip for you my dear, KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE! Secondly, I thought Selfridges was a high end, posh totty kind of place and yet, here this lady was, sounding as though better suited on a stall at Romford market. Third and finally, I think Jesus would disagree with you when you say the gourmet jelly bean is a traditional Christmas dish. #justsaying

 

Next we moved through Bond Street halting at Fenwicks, Calvin Klein and back to Oxford Street, sauntering into the passageway of 'blink and you'll miss it' St Christopher's Place, opting to re-fuel in the form of a very large and very tasty American Romana pizza at Pizza Express. Here we met our second enemy and he wasn't an unfamiliar one either. We'd met before. He'd waited on me and my cousin only weeks previous and taken a fancy to winking and deeming me his senorita. Today was no different.

 

After trekking to Covent Garden, bandaging my wounds and returning to Oxford Circus, bumping into Mike Barnes from Hollyoaks/that guy off Corrie along the way, we collapsed in the EAT armchairs at the bottom of Topshop. Here we met our third and probably worst enemy of all. Ourselves. As a sucker for a stud, sequin and sparkly number and that's just my Mum, even 7 hours of shopping couldn't stop us from running ragged amongst the festive inspired rails.

 

By 9 it was mission complete! Only as I slumped into my seat on the tube did I realise it was back to duty the following day having to wrap it all! Sigh.

 

Same time next year?

 

 

Charlotte's Top Tips for surviving the last minute Christmas rush

 

1. To burst (yuck!) those blister blues, make sure you pack some plasters!  

2. Re-fuel at every 2 hour interval. The amount of time re-fuelling can largely determine one's willingness to proceed so be careful not to rest for too long!

3. Don't do it. And if you do do it, don't waste valuable shopping time trying to persuade a lady that you really don't need any jelly beans!