Having slumped nicely into the yearly festive flump – or holiday hole for the less jolly among us – I am finding it incredibly tricky to do any uni work at all, eat anything other than canapés and cake, or keep my eyes open unless someone props me up in front of a television screen. But my train tickets back to uni are booked for a week from now so the Christmas bubble is soon to be popped by the fat finger of reality, and if I don’t acclimatise during the next seven days there’s a real risk that I may get the yuletide version of the bends. (This is a very serious, painful, and sometimes fatal condition where tiny baubles form throughout your body.) So I thought I’d write about the last week in a final desperate attempt to cling to the past before I have to start eating cereal rather than mince pies for breakfast again.
My first Christmas with Boyfriend’s family was, as far as I’m aware, strangely embarrassment free considering the amount of alcohol involved. Honestly, I’ve been to flat parties where there was less alcohol. It was amazing. During the course of the day I had Champagne, three different kinds of white wine, dessert wine, toffee vodka, Jägermeister, and rum. Dinner was completed by everyone around the table necking back a large shot of vodka, pulling back the tablecloth and starting a beer pong tourament which, by 2am, had descended (via Jäger, wine, and rum) to the murky depths of Prosecco pong. Boyfriend and I finally crawled (literally) into bed at about 4am. Frankly it made my freshers’ week look sort of pathetic in comparison. I’m going to have to spend the next year practising throwing ping pong balls into cups so I can avoid waking up on Boxing Day feeling worse than the turkey.
I spent the days between Christmas and New Year’s Eve clutching my head and trying to coax myself into thinking about alcohol while experimenting to see how many carbs it’s possible for one very small girl to consume. (The answer is, a lot.) Having spent last New Year’s Eve locked out of a party in a Little Red Dress and a strop, I was determined to enjoy myself at the end of 2012. Taking my own advice as per avoiding LRDs, I ended up spending most of my night in a LRJ – a Large Rudolph Jumper. I did not plan to wear a comedy Christmas jumper for the only compulsory night out of the year (I wore it over a mini skirt and a very sparkly, quite see-through top) but I am glad I did. My LRJ made me happy to spend a large amount of time chatting with some of my best friends in bed, rather than trying to actually go out in London. Going into London to watch the fireworks on TV was a vast improvement on going into London to watch them in person. At midnight we were not standing outside in the cold and wet, but standing inside, still cold and wet but not because of the great British weather but because we were covered in Champagne.
Judging from the jump from extremely sexy dress to extremely amusing jumper, I will probably spend next New Year’s Eve wearing a bin bag. But, as the key to enjoying NYE is to do everything you can to lower expectations, I will probably have a fabulous time in my bin bag.
So that rounds up my first full year of writing on here, and looking back it has involved the occassional political rant but has mainly just been about the embarrassing stuff that happens in my life. 2012 was a painful year for my pride but hopefully made for some good reading. Let’s hope my 2013 is just as full of awkward moments.