I really should be going to bed right now because I am so unbelievably exhausted, but I thought I should at least maintain the facade of keeping up with the new years resolutions. That being, writing in the blog more. So that is what I am doing. I apologise if I begin to digress, talk nonsense or just become plain boring. It's the tiredness I tell you.
Back to work after a two week absence (Christmas, then New Year's which is apparently a big to do in the land of the Scots) even though I had barely worked there before the holidays began. I actually feel good about going back to work and doing my thang. Yeah, I just said 'thang'. I told you I had an excuse for being a tool...
Anyway I think it's just the need I have for a routine, the comfort of having people you see every day, the security of knowing you have some sort of purpose, whatever it may be. I had that in Toronto and now I have it in Scotland. It's magic, that. such a simple thing like a job affords you so much security--and not just in the money sense. When I first moved here I was definitely drifting--and my main priority was to find a job because then I knew things would begin to fall into place. And you know what? They totally have. Yup, it was all a part of my master plan.
The holidays here were interesting--hard and strange and definitely very British, but also interesting. In a good way. I haven't been home for Christmas in 2 years so I think it is slowly starting to weigh on me. Missing my customary traditions of my mother drinking sherry and falling asleep on the couch on christmas eve while I struggle to wrap the presents for my brothers while they sleep upstairs and crying to the same scene in 'It's a Wonderful Life' every single year (the part where George thinks it's all over for him, then all the townsfolk come in with pots of money to help him--get's me every time! Not the angel getting it's wings with the bell ringing nonsense...). What a beautiful christmas. At least now I know why my mother insisted that Santa didn't want milk, he wanted a giant glass of sherry instead.
So anyway, this year I went to visit the family in Sheffield and had a brilliant time. And ate the best christmas dinner of all time (sorry mom, but your experimental meat concoctions and sushi stuffed with bits of cabbage just don't cut it...). Actually. My cousin Pat and her husband put on this delicious spread that made me think I was eating at a Nigella kitchen or something--but without all the oddly seductive talk that makes you feel as if you are not watching a cooking show at all... It's so strange that it's been awhile since I have seen them and they welcomed me like I was a regular who came every year. I didn't feel awkward or out of place--it was just family. And it was nice. My aunty Joss (that I stayed with) always made sure I had a cup of tea in hand as soon as I entered the house (and in Yorkshire tea tastes sooo much better than in Scotland for some reason...and I've no idea why!) and I definitely felt loved. Though I must digress slightly (I did warn you, but you've made it this far...) and discuss the horrid journey that was getting to and from Sheffield. Let me just say first of all that I slept in for my first bus to Sheffield (I know, I am a jackass for sleeping in AND taking the bus...) so I charged the train ticket to my credit card. Do you know how much a last minute train ticket costs on christmaseve? DO YOU!?!? I felt like vomiting. Luckily though, I made it down without incident--apart from an irritating guy across from me who kept trying to talk to me even when I vaguely gestured to the earphones in my ears playing loud Canadian music to drown out the Britishness. Don't you hate that? I am listening to music for a reason!!!
It was the journey back that was actually the trip from hell. Never, and I repeat, EVER try taking megabus across the UK and expect to get anywhere on time, or indeed have anyone know what the fuck is going on. Because I sure didn't. And neither did the driver. Isn't that disconcerting? Let me see, how many times did I get stranded in an unknown hamlet in the middle of nowhere in Scotland? twice. How many times did I have to switch buses, on a journey that should have just taken me one? 4. I feel like I should say something about something being priceless here but nothing really was. The entire trip was like trying to nail jello to a tree. Why!?
After all the festive family fun, and the harrowing journey of death trying to get back I celebrated New Year's Eve (or Hogmanay, as the locals call it) in Aberdeen in style. It was actually quite fantastic. I mean the club we ended up dancing at at the end of the night was a bit skeezy (loads of really wasted, sketchy men leering at you and trying to get your number while you shove hastily past them and head for the hills. My favorite part of the night was when one of Cat's friend's Julie gestured to her friend Andy to come over to us on the dance floor. This skeezy man thought she was gesturing to him and I have never seen someone run so fast or look so relieved in his life. Unfortunately, she had to break it to him...) but I liked the bar we went to in town (for some reason they call downtown Aberdeen 'town' and even if you life like 5 minutes down the street you would say 'oh, I'm going to a place in town' it's all very strange), I don't remember doing the tequila that someone put in front of me, I'm almost positive I threw up before midnight, then kept drinking (I'm so sorry mother, I promise I am being responsible here...) we definitely got in at about 6 am and then I passed out. Hogmanay here is huge--huger than christmas so it seems, and that was definitely a good night out.
So yes, you can see why I would look forward to getting back to a routine, start to establish a life here and just chiiiilll.
And what have I learned about blogging when I am tired? That for some reason I just take the piss out of my mother. Loves you mumsy!!
