So I started this post off thinking it was going to be a letter to the man who broke my heart. But a recurrent theme in both my life and also this blog are my exasperated matters of the heart and so therefore are my escapades into the bottoms of bottles of wine.
What we are going to discuss instead, which is my second favourite subject in the world- is me.
This is intro to Melons, begun three glasses deep, mid conversation with unnamed Tinder man about biscuits (I will not be drawn into dick pics or questions as to my location which is Alaska should anyone ask) and previous to a tub of fat-free ice cream being opened whilst I Netflix and actually chill…in my pjs…that don’t match…with odd socks…on a Friday night with a hot water bottle.
So, for those of you who don’t know me, I am Melons. My alias recurrently mistaken for bodily pros and also cons, but is in fact a play on my surname; like I would walk around telling people I have been nicknamed after my breasts? I am a delicious and brightly coloured fruit that is far more expensive that it should be, and is regularly sold pre cut up because it’s too lazy to exist in its natural state.
We bond, we gel, I eat it when I am hungover.
Other facts that should be stated from the get go are (if you haven’t already gathered) I am a overthinking neurotic with a heart of bloody solid gold. My friends, family and dogs are my absolute world, hurt them at your peril and want of a long and happy life. I have a geeky passion for history, which is demonstrated in my life long commitment to my student debt. I am over-trusting, overzealous and overtired. I am a blonde, beady, short-sighted woman with a penchant for mixing prints, mixing drinks and mixing words. I say what I think, out loud to many people’s disdain, regularly on a near awkward level. Decisions are not my forte, I tag numerous quotes in my insta-story about how life is profound when really it isn’t that profound. I make up words and sayings on a regular basis and expect people to know what I am on about. That’s touché.
Cheese is my downfall, gin is my gain, exercise is an uphill struggle made of tears, dreams, disillusions and trying to look thin in tight too-small active wear whilst exerting approximately minimal effort.
Other Melons adorations include but are not limited to; art, fashion, writing, coffee, cool music by which I really mean West End musicals on repeat, literally anything with Judy Dench in it, education, literature, every dog I ever see, museum visits, tattoos, personal hygiene, what films you saw on the plane, David Bowie, travel, whiskey, bluebells, sunflowers, new stationary, what new form macaroni cheese can take, my dogs, new trainers, adaptations of Shakespeare plays, chronological order, the British monarchy, Tabasco, tube maps, Frida Kahlo, where my phone charger is, food trucks, sarcasm, my new niece or nephew, toast, home décor Instagram pages, biro sketches, anywhere in Europe, staying up late, pompoms, cocktails in odd cups and Nandos all day, every day, forever.
I am really nice and social, and yet I absolutely hate people with an undiluted passion and its written all over my extremely expressive face. My eyebrows do the talking and my eyes do the clear and concise zoning out. I do love to meet new people though, but I hate the first meeting and much prefer when we are already friends about 5 meetings in and we are tagging each other in Gemma Collins memes and calling each other silly cunts.
I am currently ‘travelling’ which really means I have been living in Australia for 10 months and occasionally venturing out to instagramable places.I am so laid back about travel that it’s actually painful for onlooking friends. I once walked up a mountain in Bali so therefore I am done with all expeditions, treks and climbs for the rest of my life and will never ever ever ever ever ever ever do it again. Except for when I get to Malaysia in which case I will go literally anywhere to see a wild orang-utan. But if a bug comes near me I will freak out and you will probably hear me screaming from England.
That also applies in any hostel situation should there be bed bugs, real bugs, man bugs.
I have gotten to know the bad parts of me and they mainly include my honesty, impatience, habit of zoning out mid conversation, constant need for chocolate, occasional ignorance of the real world, and also my wicked dance moves that should be restricted to nights out at the visually impaired disco (too much?). I can never stick to one thought, there are always 5001 floating around my head, mainly involving scenarios and speeches that will never happen, every thought whirling around so fast I am surprised my brain doesn’t spill out my ears at times. Hence the habit of zoning out and picking up a conversation like I know exactly whats going on, when I haven’t got a bloody clue what it is you are on about, nor in fact do I care.
As mentioned in previous blog posts I regularly make my tum sing the Sound of Music soundtrack, and I am a keen member of the fictional though it should be real; ‘Real Women Have Thighs’ political party. Where we celebrate cellulite, marvel at menstruation and hand out free tampons and rosé like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for strong confident, women in their late twenties, who could happily punch a number of people in the face whilst smiling at them, shaking their probably slightly saggy boobs, refusing unequivocally to do any form of exercise, and yet remembering that they are abserbloodylootely fabulous.
No men allowed because the majority of you are a waste of space.
Until proven otherwise of course.
This was just a small introduction to me. Melons, overseer of my small kingdom of sass, obscurity, weirdness and a whole lot of fun amongst my angry expressions and regular sarcasm.
I hope you have enjoyed, and if anyone out there would like to be even 1% more organised than me, I have a whole itinerary of backpacking that needs organising.