So, I´m back D-side after probably the greatest fortnight I've ever experienced. Let me tell you, my friends, when you´ve been away from ye olde England for a month, going back is absolutely excelent in every way; even the crappy Northern weather knocks your socks off. There's real tea and real pillows and a variety of food due to the availability of a freezer (the lack of freezers is not typical to Germany, just to my flat, where I can't even squash in a bag of frozen peas alongside all the pizzas and weird ice-bound mashed potato). If I haven't said enough in the past: I love England, I really do. I really, really, really do.
As soon as I stepped of the plane at Manchester, I was greeted to the sight of Wayne Rooney's big ugly mug blown up to colossal billboard-sized proportions. Truly, I was back in my beloved Heimatsort. There was no time to drink in this awe-inspiring sight however; my plane had been delayed in Germany by almost an hour and now I only had twenty minutes to bomb through passport control, grab my bags, find the train station, buy a ticket and throw myself on the Trans-Pennine Express bound for Sheffield. Because I am obviously super woman, I achieved all this with five minutes to spare, though I'm sure watching me half walk, half run through the airport with a laptop bag swinging precariously round my neck was a hilarious sight for all. Once on the train, I bounced around like an excited child, unable to read or even sit still, occasionally pressing my nose to the glass to see if could catch glimpses of the familiar sights that meant I was nearing Sheffield.* When I eventually hit the platform, the grin on my face was frankly indecently large, especially when a nice gent offered me help with my beast of a case (this just doesn't happen in Germany - in Duisburg at the start of my journey, people were content to watch me topple backwards onto an old man through the weight of all my stuff rather than stick out an arm and help me on board). Bags in order, I careered across the station towards the taxi rank and hit my waiting mother full in the chest with a bone crushing hug that probably knocked all the wind out of her. My dad, after he brought the car around, received similar treatment. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see them both.
The first couple of days back were mostly spent dossing around my room, drinking many cups of tea and catching up with vast quantities of television online. Though I should have been spending every single moment with my 'rents, they were packing for their own holiday and didn't really need me under their feet giving them sporadic hugs and bewailing how much I'd missed them. It was nice just to sit quietly, listen to the customary bickering which accompanies any holiday preparations in our house** and feel comforted that they were, well, there. We did have an excellent meal out at the local italian where we've celebrated every birthday/ anniversary/ new job/ set of exam results since I was tiny (and probably before that as well), a meal which included steak and my parents' first ever limoncello. The verdict: good. Very good. Unfortunately I didn't get to hang out with Mum and Dad for very long because of their jet-setting ways (I'm joking - they've been planning this holiday to Australia for damn near two years) and it felt a bit soon to be saying bye all over again. It's a good job really, then, that I went and stopped with my grandma where there are hugs and homemade pie in abundance; I spent a wonderfully chilled out night and day there before beginning my ultimate floor tour of the UK.
I say UK. Nottingham, Sheffield and Leeds. I say floor tour as well, but I only slept on the floor twice (not including the two air beds) in the whole eleven days. My friends are very generous with their mattresses. My first bed-partner was Bex, who treated me to an overly classy night at Forum (vodka from mugs, sambucca shots and shoe removal) and cooked me bacon sandwiches the next day. Then, stocked up on this hearty British breakfast, I waved goodbye to Nottingham until Christmas, and headed back to good ol' Sheffers and the student lifestyle. Within the first few hours I'd already pulled in a trip to Cav, a Forge Radio show and a takeaway curry - it was like I'd never left. The following night, things got even more back to normal, in that I got well and truly Corped. Blue pints and terrible vodka galore, all I really remember is stealing geek glasses off people's faces, Gemma giving me a piggy back down the road and Heli holding my hair back whilst I was... well, you get the picture. Needless to say, I was horribly hungover the next day, something which delayed my arrival in Leeds by about four hours.
Leeds, once I got there, was an absolute blast. Ruth met me at the station, we dumped my stuff at hers and then headed out for one of the nicest meals I've had in a good long time (thank you, Student Beans, and your two for one Strada offers). Lemon baked sea bass with rosemary roast potatoes - it was so good I nearly died. Then, because we're party animals, we headed back to Ruth's and snuggled up in bed with a bag of chocolate buttons and a not-entirely-legal copy of Toy Story 3. The next day witnessed the reunification (like a nation - her phraseology, not mine) of me and Charlie. There was laughter (in abundance), tears (not really) and country music (LOTS). There was also fancy cocktails and dancing the night away to sexy motown tunes and the discovery of our unfortunate ability to attract strange bald men. Ah well, life can't be all win. Then, on the way home, I positively demanded takeaway, something which Charlie declared to be awful until I actually had it, whereupon she stole half my chips.
After this, it was once again back to Sheffield.*** Pop Tarts beckoned, an amazing night in which I drank fancy cider under the Concourse with Heli and watched Matt rugby-tackled to the ground by some of the 418 boys (a dramatic show of birthday love from drunk strangers, that). The next day I headed back to Spesh and Gem's and indulged in interval food because the chip shop was closed. We then watched DVDs and drank copious amounts of tea; it's the little things like that that makes me love being a student so much. Monday was equally lovely; Flat 19 were altogether for the first time in months (something which was made all the better with fancy sandwiches and cakes at Twenty Two A) and I kipped down at Mike and James'. I succeeded in talking Mike out of seminar prep in favour of 'Get Him To The Greek' and realised my attitude to work has not changed one jot over the summer. Tuesday saw the arrival of Sarah from Newcastle and my first ever night at Crystal (it wasn't as hellish as I had predicted it would be). We made dodgy cocktails from a suspicious Pina Colada pre-mix. They did not taste good.
Then arrived my last proper day, a day I mostly used to spend chill time with Katie; I introduced her to the excellence of Zooby's soup and we went on the park on the way home like the big kids we are. Unfortunately the crazy swing made me feel a bit sick, but the zip-wire was awwwwesooome! Spesh came round in the evening and there was more chocolate, tea and filmage (and a crafty three-way spoon, for tradition's sake), and then that was it. I slept, I got up, I packed, Katie dropped me at the station, I went to the airport, I got on the plane (despite threatening that I would just live under somebody's bed forever)...
And now I'm back in Germany. After such an action-packed couple of weeks, I'll be honest, it's currently a bit of an anti-climax. However, when the weekend rolls around and I start doing things again, I reckon my enjoyment-o-meter will be looking a bit more healthy. I hear talk of good old British binge-drinking Halloween shenanigans and I'm holding out great hopes for that. So, finally, I think that all that remains to be said is thank you to all my fantastic friends and family for giving me an truly lovely holiday. You are the best. You hear me? THE BEST. I love you all more than I could possibly articulate, and I hope that I can return the favour one day. Take care, stay cool, and I'll see ya'll soon. These nine weeks'll fly by. You just watch.
--------------------------
*"Bloodaxe" graffiti, anyone?
** "How many pairs of shoes do you need, woman!?"
***Apparently all roads lead there, or at least all roads that I happen to be on.
No comments:
Post a Comment