It's the Winter Solstice y'all. I like how so many of us have a thin vein of paganism flowing inside, passed down from an ancient past - if my aunty is stood in the garden at night and she can see the moon, she has to salute it and turn round three times.
When you dig your hands in the sand, or brush your hand along a hedge as you walk past, or close your eyes and feel the wind trying to push and pull you - is that what happens when your inbuilt pagan tendancies flicker to life and begin to worship, or is that just what happens when you drink too much? Discuss.
I'm in Any Nothern Mill Town. It's cold. I got off the coach on Friday and felt like I'd been thrown into an icy puddle. It was so windy and the rain was vicious. I've not been back to my mum's for six months and all this time I've been fondly reminiscing about heavy rainfall, filling the streets with curtains of mist and water, pitter-pattering on my head in a light and refreshing way.
That rain is bullshit rain, existing only in romcoms and London summers.
The rain here doesn't fall straight down, it blows in at you from every angle and it's so cold it stings. You can't see and you can't walk straight because of the wind and it's bitterly cold. I tried to cover my hair in what I usually imagine to be my chic and casual, is-she-or-isn't-she-vaguely-Middle-Eastern-or-Eastern-European manner, but the scarf got tangled up at the neck and stuck flat to my forehead. I struggled through town like an insane turtle; my pale, blinking face like a hideous wet square, surrounding by dripping blue scarf.
Also, my vest top kept pulling down at the front and showing my bra and I couldn't fasten my coat. When I finally got to Any Northern Town, my brother had cooked us a roast dinner. I had no idea he could cook. He cooked beef! I don't know how to roast beef.
That night my mum took me and my brother to stay with her boyfriend. I don't know if I mentioned she has a boyfriend now, but she does - and it's someone she knew years ago, who me and my brother used to know quite well.
We went to a funny social club to watch a folk band and a local performance poet. He did a poem about having Monster Munch and a Fudge shoved up his bum - what wonderfully refreshing poetry, darling. Really different.
I drank a lot of Guinness and got a bit inwardly sulky when my mum made me swap seats so she could sit with her boyfriend. SOUND FAMILIAR? I think I am a bit touchy about this because my mum has done it to me before at my grandad's funeral years ago and my dad did it to me this year at my aunty's funeral.
A funeral is not an ideal place to be reminded that everyone in the world would prefer to be with someone else rather than you, even your mum and dad are just killing time until their boyfriend/girlfriend shows up.
Maybe I am overeacting a tiny bit. I did drink a lot of Guinness.
Anyway. I am glad my mum has got a boyfriend and funnily enough it's someone who, when I was little, I would have liked her to go out with.
Talking of my mum and boyfriends... do you want to hear a creepy story?
Two weeks ago my mum's ex-husband called her and said he was moving back into the house. Can you imagine? After all this time, for him to try moving back? I think he thought he could get his old life back by barging in on my mum's life, but she told him he could not move in under any circumstances.
Two days later, my brother noticed some of my ex-stepdad'd stuff back in the garage. Then the next day, my mum woke up around 6am. She went into the bathroom and saw her ex-husband's toiletries lined up in the bathroom.
He had moved back in while she and my brother were asleep!!
So creepy and nightmarish.
He stayed for ten days and eventually left. I was dreading coming back and seeing him - so glad he left before I got here. My mum said she thinks he was a bit scared of seeing me, which is funny. He is like a big spider - more scared of you than you are of it, even though it makes your skin crawl.
Thank god he's gone again. He's such a weirdo. I don't want to say too much on here in case he reads it. You never know what he is scheming.
I wasn't feeling very Christmassy, but yesterday I went into town and met up with Kayt. We had a couple of glasses of prosecco and then she had a dinner to go to and I went to do some Christmas shopping. Walking around Selfridges while drunk is great, but is not the way to successfully complete your Christmas shopping. I bought some toner for myself and three jars of Nutella with personalised labels for the three French kids I used to look after (they LOVE Nutella). I spelt one of their names wrong and so have to go back today to see if they will change it.
I don't even have their address anymore.
I've not been shopping for months and months. While I was waiting for the Nutella labels to be printed, I browsed the Topshop concessionary. Forget my inner pagan, my (not so) inner consumer was FLIPPING OUT.
My hands weres stroking everything - feathery jumpers, mirrored crop tops with black beaded fringes, purple velvet kimonos, a white shimmery dress with white feather trim, silky trousers, cashmere, soft leather, black lace, thin silky straps on camisoles and slips, lurex, satin, sequins...
If it had all been in a charity shop or a bin bag on the street, I would have loved it just as much. I'm not an evil consumer. I just like nice things. Maybe it is my inner Celt, who would have liked turquoise and jade and bronze jewellery. Imagine an army of Celts wearing mirrored crop tops and velvet hotpants, with cloaks and spears...
Disco Celt - the new mood for AW18 perhaps?