I have arrived home for Christmas to a fanfare of trumpets and adulation from my thousands of fans who lined the streets to see my return to Suffolk. Part of that might be a slight stretch of the truth. Having spent the past week in bed and/or visiting a close friend in Bristol I now have 4 weeks left in this rainy, sleepy, flat little patch of the world before my return to Durham. I do take the mick but my lovely lil' hometown is like a familiar beacon of safety whenever I come back. Maybe it's the well-trodden path by the river and the little line of shops and cafés etched into my memory so well I could navigate them in my sleep, or being around all my oldest friends and my family, or just being somewhere with no hills that makes me feel so comforted.
Despite not yet feeling particularly festive, something I put down to my old age (sob) and the distinct lack of snowfall this year, I can already tell that this Christmas is going to be filled with family, friends and food, with as little stress as possible. I will do some work though, honest, I will. Probably. Maybe. A little. Perhaps.
I may be writing this from bed, my skin may have broken out into a 13 year old boy-like state, I may have just this very second felt the knife to the heart of realising I let a cup of tea go cold and the worst of all 8 Harry Potter films may have been on tonight (HP+HBP, for its focus on the ron-lavender-hermione love triangle as opposed to the interplay between dumbledore, snape and harry, obviously) but I'm just feeling very positive about life, especially on the back of a wonderful trip to Bristol. It was lovely to slot right back into place with one of my best friends after not seeing one another in any other way than a Skype screen for about 15 weeks. Lying in bed with her eating chocolate and watching films (yeah, let's stick to the feminine stereotypes) gave me warm, fuzzy 'I love life' feelings I haven't had in a long time. Such is the bad influence she has over me, I have possibly gotten another piercing which hurts when I smile, each time I adjust my hair and whenever I add/remove layers of clothing. I also may have gossiped and moaned with her about single life after drinking a respectable amount of Bombay Sapphire and cocktails before getting a full experience of Bristol nightlife, complete with scoring a triple 20 in darts versus a group of late twenties/early thirties sadly spoken-for men dressed up as Anchorman characters (my proudest/strangest moment). Good to get that out of my system. Watch this space for me pursuing a career as the next big darts thing.
Christmas, as anyone afforded the wondrous luxury of an eating disorder* will tell you, is not always the most wonderful time of the year, but I'm screaming 'f*** it' to the world in many ways in my life right now, so that's the approach I'm taking with food too. We're talking currently-playing-Taylor Swift 'f*** it' sentiments, to give you a sense of scale.
*So much sarcasm. Dripping with sarcasm.
No comments:
Post a Comment