Christmas
I was reading over my blog the other day, and realised that I skipped straight from December to January without mentioning Christmas, which was a pretty memorable Christmas because I actually took time off work: shock, horror!
I never knew what a sad song Judy Garland’s Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas was, she sings it so emotionally ripping that I almost cried every time I heard it – ‘maybe next year we’ll all be together’, just made me keep thinking about what – and who – I was missing. That four weeks leading up to Christmas were pretty crappy. The atmosphere was great, the shoppers were mental, the street lights were beautiful, but there was no one to share it with.
Dad came over to see Gran and Pops because it’s been ten years since he’s been back. It’s been hard enough not seeing my parents for 8 months let alone ten years. But they organised the flights from Australia so that Dad would get into London on Thursday morning, and we would fly out to Jersey together in the evening.
I had some errands to run in the morning, like handing in my timesheets to make sure I got paid over Christmas! So my train didn’t get into Heathrow till midday, Dad’s flight was due at half past eleven, but it didn’t land until midday. I was talking to mum while she was watching the flight details online, but there’s something about airports that I just love, and Hugh Grant narrates it perfectly in Love Actually when he talks about seeing the good things in the world at Heathrow – people being brought together. Family, friends, catching that first glimpse, craning your neck: Is that who I’m looking for? No. Sigh. Well, there’s no mistaking Dad, I saw him the minute he walked out of the gates. But I had to fight through the crowds to get that first hug I’ve missed out on for so long, and the second hug passed on from mum.
The landing wasn’t good because Dad had a cold and the pressure just makes your head explode, but there wasn’t much for us to do for the rest of the day but wait. Dad had his suitcase, going from international to domestic, and I had my backpack, so we had to hike from terminal three to terminal one, back past the underground where I’d come from, and over to the BMI check-in. We were able to check in and choose our seats, but we had to hold onto our bags until about 4pm, so we headed upstairs to the Costa Café and got lunch. Mum called while I was ordering, so we talked for a bit, his highness where else but actually in bed.
We watched the lines downstairs, people checking in, wandering, sitting, waiting. Always waiting. We thought that people were a bit strange, looking up at us every so often, and then in big groups. Staring and staring. That was until we realised the departures board was beneath where we were sitting. Duh! Eventually we were able to check our bags in and move along to our gate, where followed more sitting and waiting, not just more, but extended because our flight was delayed. And then when we boarded, we had to wait at the gate, and on the taxi, before we could take off. Eight hours of waiting for a flight that lasts 25 minutes!
Luckily we didn’t have to wait too long for our bags because Dad was inching closer and closer to the door, trying to see out when it opened for those passing through. But just as I knew, there was Gran sitting to the right of the door waiting for us. As this is my third time over to Jersey in 2007, I got the shorter hug, and rightly so. I was stoked to see Gran’s new car, a little (but tall) crimson Kangoo. No problem getting the bags into that one, but Gran was amused at Dad holding onto the door. Haha! Pops was waiting by the window, his tall figure silhouetted in the window to all those outside. But the silhouette waved, and we waved back.
After a long working week and a long wait at the airport, I was almost falling asleep at the kitchen table. But we managed to fit two beds in the lounge room and crash. We had a nice quiet week, fixing Pops up with Skype and doing a clean up of his laptop, wandering the markets for last minute Christmas bargains, going out along five-mile road and over to Green Island. The weather wasn’t always friendly, but several times it was bearable enough that Dad and I caught the bus home from town. There were heaps of movies on TV and, unlike Aussie Christmas where there’s no time to watch them because we’re all outside enjoying the summer, there was plenty of time in a Northern hemisphere Christmas.
It was nice to spend Christmas Day surrounded by family, wishing that Lija was there too but she was in Budapest, and wishing that Mum and Alex were there too. Gran and Pops gave me a big pink towel which is nice and soft, and a cream handbag with red sequins. Uncle Mark and Aunty Karen gave me a cute pair of pyjamas and coffee bags, and Flo gave me a big packet of fudge. That night we all seven of us went out for a meal at Green Island, with a Christmas menu. Dad and I had two different seafood entrees which we swapped and shared – to get the best of both. I had a lamb shank and with the choice of mains we all got a huge variety of vegetables – carrots, beans, turnips, brussel sprouts, potatoes. Try as I might Dad put the sprouts back on my plate! And then dessert and coffee. It was nice, different. Gran made us a roast turkey on Boxing Day, for Pop’s birthday. She was in the kitchen all morning, and I kept getting these nice wafting smells when the door was opened.
It was a very relaxing week. We watched a lot of movies, went out for drives around the island, went into town to see what’s new.
And just like that my seven days were up and I was back in London, back to work.
Tags: Travel
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