Right back where I started from

Apologies as usual for not writing sooner/more often. I’ll be better this year, promise.

I’ve been back in London for a week now. It was great to get away, but it’s also nice to be back.

Christmas at home was AMAZING. Nothing spectacular or exciting, just home. Which in itself can be pretty spectacular and exciting when you’ve been away for four months. Christmas was like it always is, which is exactly what I expected and wanted. Same traditions, same food, same feelings. I knew as soon as I walked into my house that I had made the right decision, that the number on the credit card statement pales in comparison to everything else. In addition to all of the wonderful aspects of being with my family in my house, I also got Bojangles biscuits, Pizza Inn, and El Rodeo. I got to spend a perfect night in Chapel Hill with my friends, and got to re-connect with an old friend at home. I got to see Anderson and CNN and part of a “My Super Sweet Sixteen” marathon on MTV. (I think they knew I was coming home.) I shopped at Target and got a caramel apple cider from Starbucks – in Goldsboro. I soaked up the Southern accent to the point that I am still drawling. (And being teased mercilessly at work for it.) I got to sleep in my bed, which truly is the softest place on Earth – at least compared to the bed here. (I felt like I slept on air my first night.) I got to watch 1 ½ Carolina basketball games. I got hugs. But most of all, after a month of not being that happy, of being exhausted and frustrated and confused, I got to re-charge, got to get back to a part of myself that I didn’t realize I was missing.

And that was my Christmas.

I got back on the 30th, and spent New Year’s Eve at a flat party in Bayswater with my flatmates. No watching fireworks at Big Ben or any other tourist things, does this make me a real Londoner? No, probably just made me smart and warm. I’ve never really been out on New Year’s before and it was a lot of fun. Free drinks made by someone who actually knows how to make drinks, lots of picture taking by the roommate and I while waiting for the clock to strike midnight, lots of being ignored by the people at the party, as they were all older and married. (Not as bad as it sounds – we made our own fun. And it was interesting and a learning experience to say the least.) At midnight I got my New Year’s kisses from several people – all of the European kiss-kiss kind. And then, in a very nice and embarrassing gesture, everyone sang “Happy Birthday” to me. It was nice of Marissa to tell the guy throwing the party, and nice of him to make everyone sing to me, but embarrassing because I just don’t like attention like that. But mostly it was a nice thing. J So 23 started with kisses on the cheek, champagne, a little dancing, and French fries at 2 a.m. at a Halal restaurant on the way to the tube. What this means in ways of prediction for 2007, not sure. But I look forward to finding out.

And that was my New Year’s.

The first day of my 23rd year was uneventful. Seriously. Finally letting the jet lag get to me, I stayed in out of the cold and rain, watched “The Little Mermaid” with the roommate, and then had birthday cupcakes, courtesy of Marissa, and then birthday Nutella and Pandora, courtesy of the flatmate Angelo. It was a good birthday and I have no regrets about how my year has started. It was weird not being home for my birthday, watching the Rose Parade, taking lots of calls from family, but it was still nice. And I did get my family birthday before I left, complete with “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” themed décor and yellow cake with chocolate frosting. I always seem to end up with more birthday cakes then I know what to do with, and this year was no different. I’m still not happy about turning 23, for starters I don’t like odd numbers, and I just am not ready to be another year older. But I guess all in all 22 wasn’t a bad year, lots of changes, that’s for sure, but a lot of good things as well. So hopefully 23 will be alright as well.

And that was my birthday.

Life started again on the 2nd, or at least the semblance of a life I have here. Back to work, though work, and pretty much all of London this week, has been pretty dead. Apparently they’ve had a record number of office workers taking holiday or calling in sick. Work still managed to be stressful at times, but still a little too slow for my taste and I’m hoping things will be closer to normal this week.

This week was perhaps my most trying week here, however, as the SALES have started. Every store window declares, in hot pink, green, and of course, RED, 50% off, 75% off, LAST CHANCE. Every store I pass on Oxford Street – to and from work and on my lunch break – pulls at my self-control, and debit card. So far I think I have done very well. I’ve only bought stuff I will really wear, and got some really good deals in the process.

This weekend I was out and about in London in a way I haven’t done in awhile. I went to Hammersmith on Saturday morning, and then Canary Wharf in the afternoon. I went to the Docklands Museum first, and then sat at a Starbucks in Jubilee Place and wrote.

The Docklands Museum covered the history of the Docklands of London – bet you couldn’t have guessed that – from when it was the Roman port of Londinium to now, with the DLR and rejuvenation of Canary Wharf. It was very well put-together with lots of interesting pictures and artifacts. The artifacts were especially amazing, as they were real objects, no replicas. I love seeing a Viking axe that they just happened upon while excavating in Covent Garden in 1984! They had a jawbone from a whale – twice my height! I think I started at it for five minutes.

The exhibit that I liked the most, however, and the reason for journeying to the museum in the first place, was on Jamestown. It was actually smaller than I had expected, but had lots of artifacts from Jamestown and interesting facts I did not know. For instance, I never knew that orphaned children from England were sent to the colony as servants. They had real tobacco in a barrel at one part of the exhibit. Mom made fun of me when I told her it made me think of home. She’s right, we may live in the country but it’s not like I’m around cured tobacco – ever. But for some reason the smell sent me instantly back home.

My favorite part of the museum was a map labeled “the Southern part of Virginia.” In actuality, it’s North Carolina, turned on its side, so the Outer Banks are at the bottom, but still, it was North Carolina. Cape Fear and Cape Hatteras, as well as Roanoke Island were labeled. There were drawings of animals along the Eastern part of the state – apparently lions roamed wild around the Wilmington area! J Instead of the Atlantic Ocean – it was called the “Southern Virginia Sea.” And the area around Beaufort was simply described with “this is a swampy wilderness.” I think I studied the map for 10 minutes, and then came back two more times before leaving it. It was very well drawn, in colored pencil, and very detailed in its rendering of the Outer Banks and various inlets. The map made it worth the long tube ride to Canary Wharf, and the even longer walk, in the cold, bitter, wind and rain from the tube station to the museum.

Sunday I went to church and then sat in a coffee shop and read. I think I may have finally found a coffee shop that I can read in and feel at ease, relaxed, and just good. It’s the Café Nero on the second floor of Paperchase on Tottenham Court Road. It’s close to church, work, and only about a 30 minute walk from my flat, and it only took me four months to find a place to chill and read and write in!

And that was my weekend. As usual it was too short, but I feel good about the week ahead, and that hasn’t happened in awhile.