Yes, sorry to be a misery guts but Christmas is officially over, so if you're doing anything festive you better stop it. Now. Put down the mincepie and take off your silly Christmas jumper, because Christmas ended last night at ten pm when my plane touched down in Paris.
This time yersterday I was sat in the car with my mum, my brother and my stepdad, on my way to the airport. I had a horrible feeling in my stomach and my mouth was all dry. My mum wanted to take me into the airport but my stepdad, who was driving, said he didn't want to park the car... ideally he would have liked me to jump out of the car while it was still moving and then he would have thrown my luggage out after me, but my mum made him stop at the Drop-Off point so she could get out and give me a hug. I was all glittery-eyed and brave (just like Princess Diana, I thought) as my mum squeezed me goodbye and cried into my hair. I wonder where I get my drama queen tendancies from?
When I arrived in Manchester Airport last Friday, I had a little Drama Queen moment of my own. When I located my mum's face in the crowd at Arrivals I ran towards her and burst into tears and she had to gently steer me towards the carpark because everyone was staring at me. It was brilliant. I was inspired after watching Love Actually last week- there's nothing like a Tearful Airport Reunion.
Oh it was so lovely to be home! Everything was Novel and Glorious- whether it was taking a bath (I only have a shower in my Cinderella Room, remember) or sitting on the couch with my mum, eating chocolates and watching the Ab Fab Christmas special. (It was disappointing, wasn't it?)
I'm so glad I managed to get home without any Fuck-Ups- I was terrified something was going to go wrong. Thankfully, everything went quite smoothly. I packed my bags and rang a taxi the night before, then on Friday morning I got up at 4am, threw my clothes on (which I had chosen and arranged on a chair the night before, how organised of me!) and even had time for a cup of tea before I had to go downstairs and wait for my taxi.
I had an irrational fear that I was going to get mugged whilst waiting for my taxi, but the streets were full of people. It was the first time I have ever seen people going in or out of the two 'members only' clubs opposite my building, I was beginning to think they were brothels. It's weird though, that I've never seen anyone going in before; only the stony-faced bouncers stood on their own looking bored. I've never heard any music coming from within either, but they are definitely real 'members only' clubs because on Friday morning there were quite a few nobheads gathered outside, all looking very drunk and very rich.
Anyway, I was glad of the nobheads because it made me feel better about being Out and About so horrendously early. You know when you come home at 7am and you think everyone else must be doing the same thing as you, even though they have clearly just woken up and are on their way to work? Well I had that feeling, but in reverse: I felt like everyone on the streets was just starting the day like me, when in fact I don't know anyone who would start the day in a cocktail dress and heels, after drinking eleven champagne cocktails for breakfast. I wish I did though- that person would be the funnest friend ever!
The taxi was a little bit extravagant, but I didn't really have a choice. If I took my chances on the Roissy Bus or the Air France bus, I might not have made it on time and I would've had to get to the bus stops in the first place, providing muggers with ample opportunity to come and steal away my passport and with it my Christmas Dreams. The taxi was fifty five euros, but you can't put a price on Christmas Dreams.
At the airport I didn't Fuck Up too badly, although I did do that thing again where I check my bag in and then forget to go through Security- I was sat on a bench eating clementines for about twenty minutes before I realised that the big gate called 'Boarding' is actually where you go to get through Security. Why is it called 'Boarding' then? It's very confusing.
But now I think I know why I made the same mistake in Ibiza and then again on Friday: because I'm used to getting the 'Eurostar' and when you get the 'Eurostar' you go through security and then you wait in the lounge and then you get on your train; but when you get on 'a plane' you have to check your bag in and then you have to go through security, and then you wait in a lounge and then you get on your plane. You can see how I got a bit mixed up.
The flight was fine- I love Air France. I got a cup of tea and a croissant. The flight is ridiculously quick, it was an hour and a half, I think. My mum picked me up at the airport and we went straight to my gran's house for tea and mince pies. After that we went to my mum's friend's house for tea and mince pies and then we went home, for tea and mince pies... I love tea and mince pies.
I was supposed to go my dad's house in Liverpool the day I got back, but I couldn't be arsed travelling to Liverpool after getting up so early and being on a plane.
It's hard work getting on a plane! Before I went through Security I realised I had about a million clementines and little boxes of mini Smarties in my handbag and I couldn't remember if you were allowed to take food on a plane or not... I thought the Smarties might look like drugs and it sent me into a panic, then I thought 'What if they think I've wrapped clementine peel around bags of heroin?' so I threw all my food in a bin just before I went through. The weird thing is, when I got off the plane in England, I realised I still had two clementines and three little boxes of Smarties in my handbag... next time I fly, I think I will take on board loads of drugs disguised as Smarties and clementines.
I felt a bit snid on my dad for not showing up but I didn't think he'd be too bothered. Whenever I do get around to visiting him, I spend most of the time lying on the couch yelling 'Can I have another cup of tea, dad?' and 'Can I have a lamb chop?' To his credit, he does always at least two lambchops in the griddlepan, waiting for me (his oldest, fattest child).
But on Christmas Day he rang up to speak to me and my brother and he sounded a bit sad.
"When will we see you then?" he said.
The answer was, I don't know and I feel a bit bad about this because I've seen my dad, his girlfriend and my three little half-brothers twice in the last twelve months... I also feel a bit scared because my nana will be furious at me. Once me and my brother didn't see her on Easter Sunday and she ate our Easter Eggs to teach us a lesson. I bet she would have given me some money for Christmas as well, but now she'll have spent it out of spite.
Three and a half days just wasn't enough time to see everyone. I didn't see any of my friends, I didn't even get to see all of my family... But I had a cracking Christmas dinner and I stocked up on false eyelashes, that's all you can ask for really.
My first day back at work was ok, I'm so glad I don't have to go to my au pair job this week. I'm going to use my free afternoons and evenings to be really productive- I'm going to get my eyebrows done, exfoliate and moisturise every night and I'm going to FINALLY get my hair cut. I look like I've been held captive in someone's cellar for sixteen years, someone who didn't own a pair of scissors.
There's also the teensy weensy problem of finding outfits for New Year's Eve (fancy dress party) and New Year's Day (raving). I don't know why I bother looking in the shops and trying things on, we all know I'll just put my feathery headband on for the fancy dress party and then my Disco Tights and denim shorts for New Year's Day.
Oh my God do you know what I've just thought? I always spell 'airplane' as 'airplane', yet I pronounce it as 'aeroplane'. Am I spelling it wrong? Are there two different words? Am I an idiot?
Don't answer that.