We've all been there: The Forgotten "I'm safe" Text

Stumbling from the warmth of a friend’s house and into the darkened street, you have every intention of texting them to declare your safe deliverance the moment your foot is in the door. However, somewhere along the road this thought is pushed from your mind, as you clutch your keys and treat every bush as a potential hiding spot for deviants and werewolves. Upon arriving home you are so flushed with your triumphant escape from harm that you instantly forget the concerns of everyone else and make yourself a victory tea (or something stronger if it was particularly hazardous.)

In the time immediately following this omission, either your friend will try to make contact with you, thus confirming their genuine concern, or you will both have moved on to other things and be blissfully unaware of any communication failure until you meet again three days later. Either way, since masked vigilantes prepared to swoop to the rescue are notoriously unreliable, it is nice to know that someone is thinking about where you are. For the sake of safety please keep up this rather endearing ritual, and you never know, one day you might actually remember to reply.

Five films to see in November

Nothing beats the cinema for escapism: it's full of tension, romance and drama, and it's even indoors. As temperatures and the number of daylight hours drop, take solace in five fantastic films.

Rust and Bone

Friday 2^nd November

Director: Jacques Audiard

Starring: Marion Cotillard, Matthias Schoenaerts, Fabien Baïardi

What better credentials can a film have to offer than Marion Cotillard, a dramatic love story and killer whales? Maybe the accolade of ‘Best Film’ from the BFI Film Festival and a nomination for this year’s Palme d’Or. Cotillard plays Stephanie, a killer whale trainer who grows close to reckless single dad Ali (Belgian heartthrob Matthias Schoenaerts) after a terrible accident. Most reviews are overwhelmingly positive, with some labelling Cotillard as an early Oscar contender, so bone up on your French or grab your reading glasses for this gritty and compelling drama.

Argo

Wednesday 7^th November

Director: Ben Affleck

Starring: Bryan Cranston, Ben Affleck, John Goodman

Directed by and starring a heavily bearded Ben Affleck, Argo is based on the true story of an attempt to pass off six American diplomats stuck in Tehran during the 1979 Iran hostage crisis as a Canadian film crew working on a sci-fi. Argo has been reviewed as a tense thriller with moments of dark humour, all of which sounds right up the street of a cast that includes Bryan Cranston, John Goodman and Alan Arkin.

The Sapphires

Wednesday 7^th November

Director: Wayne Blair

Starring: Chris O’Dowd, Deborah Mailman, Jessica Mauboy

If all of this seems a bit intense, try this comedic gem. Also inspired by a true story, The Sapphires follows a quartet of Aboriginal Australian singers, and their well-meaning Irish manager (Chris O’Dowd), who go from country girls to soul stars as they find themselves entertaining troops embroiled in the Vietnam War. It may not be the next Apocalypse Now (which is probably a good thing), but this has been praised as a film with a heart behind the humour.

Skyfall

Friday 26^th October

Director: Sam Mendes

Starring: Daniel Craig, Javier Bardem, Judi Dench

Yes, technically this came out in October, but there are probably quite a few of us already queuing up to relive it again. While the beginning frequently slips into predictable Bond territory (think superficial 'Bond girls' and implausible action sequences), the arrival of Javier Bardem’s brilliantly creepy villain marks this as a move away from the cheesy spy thrillers of the past and as an intelligent and gripping film in its own right.

The Master

Friday 2^nd November

Director: Paul Thomas Anderson

Starring: Philip Seymour Hoffman, Joaquin Phoenix, Amy Adams

Any film starring Philip Seymour Hoffman as a cult leader and Joaquin Phoenix as his dedicated disciple has to be worth a watch, particularly one written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson. With the performances from the two leads and Anderson’s direction already receiving rave reviews, one of the year’s most highly anticipated films is building up quite a following.

Five things I have learned this week

Kids did not embrace the vegetarian alternative to Ronald McDonald.

Always read the label. When a care label on an item of clothing reads ‘hand wash only’, you should respect this advice. After feeling a kind of rebellious pride as I chucked that favoured top in the washing machine, I’m left with a garment suitable only for a very stylish toddler.

Maps are not my friends. Maps can be wonderful things, but, like black eye shadow and lightsabres, in the wrong hands they can lead to disaster. In my hands, for example, a map can lead to a short cut becoming a rather long detour round some beautifully autumnal trees, and, upon consultation with someone who knows where they are, a headache-inducing sprint in the opposite direction.

Carrots used to be purple. Apparently, the Dutch decided that they wanted their carrots to match their national colours, and introduced the orange variety to the Western world.

A hole in a handbag is a hole in the head. Wishful thinking and procrastination will not fix the hole in the lining of your handbag. Furthermore, important objects such as your keys and phone will continue to fall through it and prompt moments of blind panic, while relatively replaceable objects like hairclips and sticks of gum will remain where you left them.

The definition of 'kiki', according to the Scissor Sisters. For the uninitiated, a 'kiki' is a party thrown for the express purpose of letting off steam after a rough day. It may involve locking doors, lowering blinds, firing up a smoke machine, putting on heels and spilling tea. It is also important to note that once you have listened to this song once you may need to throw a kiki to release the stress built up by having it playing in your mind all day.

Fireworks, films and squirrels on jumpers: why autumn is underrated

Ever the pragmatist, Superman never tested his powers without a soft
landing spot.

Despite its crisp sunshine and colourful palette, autumn is the most overlooked and unloved of the seasons. Devoid of the excitement of winter, the freshness of spring and the anticipation of summer, it is often seen as the bringer of bad news, the party pooper who wants you to turn the music down, put on some clothes and get an early night. Contrary to its dowdy reputation, the underdog of the seasons actually has a lot to offer its ungrateful public.

Firstly, the fashion. We can finally pack away the shorts and spaghetti tops and breathe a sigh of relief as the woolly cardigans and enormous socks are brought blinking into the light of day. Pasty legs are once again ensconced in jeans, while toenails go triumphantly unpainted as sandals give way to well-insulated boots. Arriving after the sweaty fluster of summer and before the fuss of Christmas parties, autumn is the most forgiving of the seasons when it comes to beauty maintenance. Fake tan addicts can get out their snowy white sheets and razors remain tentatively on the side, while a relaxing ten minutes with a face and hair mask is the order of the quarter. If a stripped-back beauty regime is not enough to convince you, who can fail to love a season which practically demands the possession of an alarmingly large and obscenely cosy jumper, preferably emblazoned with some form of woodland creature? Ban the bikini and snuggle up in an appropriately garish knit.

If you’re looking for somewhere to work the wool, why not try the cinema? Although a darkened room may not seem like the best place to show off an outfit, there are so many gut-bustingly exciting movies on the horizon you won’t want to be anywhere else. So far this autumn we’ve lusted after Anna Karenina’s drool-worthy dresses (and leading man), whooped and wept over the superb Perks of Being a Wallflower, and tried very hard to pretend that Joseph Gordon-Levitt resembles Bruce Willis in sci-fi thriller Looper.

Fortunately for all popcorn manufacturers, this promising start looks set to continue well into November before the Christmas movies strike. Released on the 17^th October and featuring one of the most endearing animated dogs of all time (apologies to Gromit), Frankenweenie is Tim Burton’s affectionate tribute to classic monster movies. While it fails to deliver one major feature of a Burton movie (namely Johnny Depp), it retains the style and dark humour fans have come to expect. Another visually stunning recent release is On the Road, Walter Salles’ adaptation of Kerouac’s celebrated novel. Add to these the return of Daniel Craig’s brooding Bond in Skyfall and Paul Thomas Anderson’s highly anticipated The Master, and it becomes clear that there simply aren’t enough Orange Wednesdays in the months ahead.

It being autumn, it is entirely possible that you are reading this in the library of some form of educational institute, surrounded by a small fort of books and a moat of notes, and fuelled by coffee craftily smuggled past watchful librarians. Serving as a break between summer and winter, autumn can seem a lot like New Year. It is a time to take up yoga and vegetables, and drop chocolate cake and ice cream sundaes. After the long lazy days of summer, the intellectual stimulation afforded by school and Uni suddenly seems life-affirming and mind-blowing. You experience a sudden need for levels of organisation only achievable through the acquisition of numerous items of stationery. Hole-punches, staplers, cat-shaped highlighters and cake-shaped rubbers begin to accumulate on a desk already covered in complex-sounding books and Post-it notes as you hunt down the perfect note-storing system.

Autumn represents a chance to start again and make good on the promise of efficiency made in the queue at the Paperchase sale on the 1^st January. It should be seen as a golden time of academic delight and dedication soon to be destroyed by impending deadlines and dissertation woes. Take note and embrace this time of hitherto unseen productivity. Just expect to find said note several months later on the floor beside the earring you thought was gone forever and a disturbingly large ball of dust.

For any sceptics still out there, autumn offers two of the most enjoyable festivals of the year. Halloween is possibly the only excuse adults have to douse themselves in liberal quantities of fake blood, frighten small children and make elaborate sculptures out of pumpkins. Bonfire night also offers ample opportunities to have fun under the guise of responsibility and tradition. Any season which offers us the chance to create a fake man and set him alight, before sending rockets and other noisy, pretty things into the sky and ingesting dangerous amounts of toasted marshmallow can only be, in an overused word, awesome.

Despite these deeply rational arguments for the joyfulness inherent in autumn, there are the inevitable cynics out there. While they stubbornly clutch their Cornettos and shiver in their hot pants, may the rest of us pull on our boots, throw on our scarves and follow the yellow brick road laid at our feet in the form of the golden leaves of autumn.

Good training: the etiquette of train travel

The conga line was not warmly received by other commuters.

Ah trains, those magical machines that whisk you through the picturesque English countryside or a dingy Tube tunnel to a destination that would have been entirely unreachable without their superb assistance. Or just a five minute walk down the road. With their enclosed and limited space, trains force us to co-operate with each other. While the official station rules include helpful suggestions such as don’t run across the tracks or leave any baggage unattended if you would like it back in one piece, this reluctant union has also produced many unwritten rules.

A great many of these rules relate to seating, which is perhaps unsurprising given their crucial role in a train journey. The ugly truth is that everyone wants a seat, which turns the carriage into a battlefield. Of course, one of the unspoken rules is that certain people must be given priority. However, when the particularly frail OAP and obviously-pregnant lady have been cheerfully waved on to seats, it is an open playing field.

As the train pulls into the platform at a tauntingly slow speed, the crowd surges forward. There is a quick, tense moment when everyone guesses where the doors will stop, and a sweet, smug sense of victory when they stop with the space down the middle directly in front of you. Of course, because this is Britain and we are fine-tuned to obey announcements given out in an authoritative voice over a loudspeaker, we grudgingly let the people off the train first, tutting at anyone who barges on ahead. However, when the last suitcase has been dragged across the gulf between train and platform, the starter gun has effectively been fired, cuing a mad scramble for position.

The first seats to go are the window seats, because why stare a piece of wall when you can stare at various sheep or a train tunnel. People travelling alone will head for the pairs, perhaps surreptitiously placing a bag beside them to mark their territory. Others will head for the fours, preferring to spread out over as wide a space as possible. And people on the Tube will sit anywhere, even if it’s that ledge at the back which is more of a challenge than a seat.

A person’s behaviour in a train reveals much about them. Do they sit on the seat furthest from the aisle, bag by their feet leaving the other seat free? Or are they the self-absorbed jock who casually slumps into the aisle seat, dumping his bag next to the window and plugging into his MacBook, seemingly completely unaware of the crowd of people gripping onto the handrail for dear life, silently glaring at his back? Everyone has seen this latter person, and either you are them, or you hate them and relish making them move over.

This battlefield is complicated by the presence of reserved seats. Clutching the precious reservations (valid only with ticket) that offer proof of their advanced organisational skills, the efficient passengers glance nervously around at the miscreants, those airheads who didn’t think to book in advance. As the train pulls in and the swarm begins, they either hang back, assured of their seat, or rush forward, determined not to let the organisationally-challenged reap the benefits of their forethought. That seat, in its prime window position, is mine, and I will argue with anyone who tries to claim it.

The claim to ownership is somewhat complicated if the reservation slips identifying the reserved seats are missing. This will ultimately bring it down to a game of resilience, with the victor settling back for a comfortable journey while the loser clutches the hand rail or sinks into a lesser seat and steams silently. All these battles must be waged in either absolute silence or exaggeratedly polite terms. To respond in any other way would be to reveal the unacknowledged malice that lurks beneath a supposedly casual train journey.

You have claimed your seat: what now? Most people on trains manage to entertain themselves, whether by gazing gormlessly out of the window or reading something which will, unfortunately, probably be Fifty Shades of Grey or some equally dismal equivalent. However, there are also those who are perfectly willing to disrupt everyone else in their quest for entertainment. These generally fall into three categories. Firstly, there is the unwitting disturber; this might be the person on the phone whose mundane conversation is being involuntarily followed by the entire carriage, or the person who has turned up the volume on their MP3 player so loud that someone three rows back and is wondering what happened to Muse on that fifth album. Then there is the chatty person who wants to tell you their life story before you escape to the delights of Melton Mowbray. “Where are you going? It’s been awful weather hasn’t it? Reminds me of the time I went to Scotland in 1979...” Short of feigning illness or deafness, this one is absolutely inescapable.

Finally, we reach the third kind, the group of disturbers. Generally formed of teenage girls or football fans, these will carry on conversations at a volume hitherto unknown to man and about things inane enough to bore a particularly stupid toad. Whether it be drunken ramblings or a two hour discussion of which side of the train the doors will open on at Peterborough (sadly a true story), these passengers will leave the rest of the carriage envisaging throwing them out of the window. Although they will probably just seethe silently instead.

For most people, trains are an unavoidable fact of life, and as such, it is better to be prepared for the mad scramble that that overpriced ticket will provide you. So get your fake smile and elbows at the ready: the train is now ready to depart.

A Postcard Post

"I know there's a desk under here somewhere..."

Along with blurry photos, souvenir t-shirts and the sudden need for sunglasses, postcards are a sure sign that you are On Holiday. Whether depicting white sandy beaches at sunset or something involving a dirty pun, they are a way of telling family and friends exactly what you are up to while they are stuck at home.

There is something rather delightful about receiving a postcard from half way around the world (or even just Kent.) Postcards make you feel that despite a hectic schedule of camel racing, scuba diving and cheese rolling, your friend thinks enough of you to take the time to purchase a postcard, track down a suitably expensive stamp and hunt out a post box. Once they have popped through the letterbox and been suitably exclaimed over, postcards go on to take pride of place on a fridge or corkboard, or maybe on the Random Stuff Pile on the side. Once here, they become part of the furniture, remembered only when you are looking for that bank statement, pizza voucher or event poster.

There is always the slight chance that of the myriad of cards that you send, a few won’t make it. This can be particularly awkward if they are aware that others have received one. My dad claims that he sent my brother, sister and I one each from South Africa, yet while Claire’s and mine arrived shortly after him, Matt’s has apparently been lost in the mysterious swirling fog that is the worldwide postal service.

Given the unreliable nature of the post compared with instant forms of communication now available to us, it often seems like postcards are more effort than they’re worth. I generally buy postcards with the vague notion of perhaps sending them at some point, only to find them a year later, still in their little paper bag with a Eurocent coin and flimsy receipt floating around in the bottom. However, before undertaking the Mad European Dash, I made a solemn promise to myself that I would send postcards this year. In the light of this decision, we dutifully went through the rigmarole of buying, stamping and sending the postcards from a variety of beautiful, historical and generally postcard-worthy locations.

Was it worth it? In time-honoured tradition, we are currently waiting for the postcards to arrive after us. While three have made reached their respective fridge doors, five are still missing in action. This includes Matt’s, who seems to have fallen out of favour with the god of postcards. It certainly felt good to take a minute and think of home while standing in the middle of the fearsomely beautiful Vienna or a cold and windy Brussels street. While the simple messages I managed to fit on could easily have been conveyed quickly and overall more cheaply via text, the little moment of delighted surprise was worth the extra effort.

Lessons learned on a mad dash round Europe

No matter what angle he tried, she kept sticking her head in the way.

Along with various facts about Amsterdam canals and a profound understanding of the habits of the Austrian monarchy, my six days, six nights, six countries and approximately nineteen train journeys have taught me some invaluable lessons about how to travel.

Learn to pack light. Of course you intend to wear all four pairs of shoes, use every millilitre of conditioner and read all seven books when you are cavalierly throwing them into your suitcase. However, when you are standing forlornly at the bottom of the fifth flight of stairs you've come across in one Metro station, chances are that you would happily exchange Life of Pi or the red trainers that match the cardigan for the extra boost. Besides, when you’re collapsing into a train seat after a hard day of trekking through palaces and scoffing pastries, an iPod and magazine are more than sufficient entertainment.

Motorists in Europe will try to kill you. Be aware that motorists in Europe see pedestrians as sport rather than obstacles to be avoided. The friendly green man on the pelican crossing is not so much a signal that you may cross the road without danger of death as a challenge to try and do so. The traffic lights may officially be red, but be prepared for trams, motorcyclists and BMWs to hurl themselves at you without remorse. Indeed, every road crossing becomes somewhat reminiscent of that old game, in which you are frog trying to make it across the road without being squished. After employing many strategies, I discovered that the safest approach is to form a large group on either side of the road and cross together. While this may seem like a rather touching act of mutually beneficial camaraderie, it’s not: the aim is to make sure that you are in the middle with everyone else acting as a buffer between you and certain death at the hands of a malicious French driver.

No matter how high your grade, GCSE German will not help you. While certain phrases may have been useful when crafting that coursework or desperately trying to understand what the distant voices on the tapes were saying, in the real world no one cares that ‘Ich gehe gern ins Kino’ or that ‘je m’entend bien avec ma famille’. Confronted with a sign that doubtless conveys some vitally important information, the knowledge that ‘Ich habe eine Schwester’ suddenly seems deeply unhelpful. Furthermore, when you do work up the courage to respond in the native tongue (or a variation thereupon), the other party will inevitably respond in perfect English, which may even extend to sarcasm. Either book yourself into that foreign language course now, or avoid further humiliation by admitting defeat, tearing up the phrase book and going to America.

It is possible to execute a night-to-day look in a train toilet. Night trains may be a useful way of covering long distances, but they are not exactly conducive to stylish dressing, personal hygiene or daily skin routines. While the train company proudly advertises the onboard washroom, this turned out to be neither a room nor somewhere it is possible to wash more than a finger, owing to the fact it is actually an upright coffin with a sink thrown in. However, with a careful combination of wriggling, balance and grim determination, it is possible to enter as a pyjama-clad, make up-free, tired and dishevelled mess, and emerge a jean-clad, made-up, tired and dishevelled mess. Make sure you take baby wipes to replace your shower, a steady hand for the mascara and leave your best, carpet-scraping pyjamas at home. And if all else fails, throw on the dark glasses, grit your teeth and think about the croissant calling your name from the next exotic location.

Map reading is a crucial life skill. Consider the following exchange:

“We need to go down this street, through the park, along the canal and turn left.”

“No, it’s straight ahead, second left, first right, over the bridge and then third left.”

“That’s what you said yesterday, and we ended up in Calais.”
“Actually that was Hamburg.”

If you have ever found yourself in an unfamiliar location with a friend/relative/significant other, chances are you have had a variant of this conversation. It turns out that along with percentages and the names of the Tudor monarchs, map-reading is actually useful in real life as well as in school. At some point in your travels you will be lost. It may be that you are standing at the statue of an entirely different King Maximilian, are in the wrong city, or are desperately trying to find your Amsterdam hotel in the rain as it gets increasingly cold and dark. At this point, the ability to read a map correctly, preferably the first time, will seem very important. Fortunately, many big cities have large maps at various points in the city. While standing in front of these arguing may reveal you both as embarrassing tourists, if it means saving you a sprint to the station or a wrong turn down an alleyway, it’s worth losing the je ne sais quoi and finding that ‘You are here’.

These are not necessarily the most important lessons I learned on my travels. As you may have noted, there is no mention of how to securely attach your passport to an unused part of your leg, how to operate those foreboding lockers in train stations, or even details about the military planning required to send a postcard back to England. However, should you ever find yourself planning your own mad dash around Europe, I hope that these brief lessons will help you avoid discomfort, danger and deep humiliation.

Feel free to share any travel tips, tales or terribly unnerving warnings of your own below.