Later in December, I’m heading home to the UK. To be more specific, I leave New York on Christmas Eve and land at Heathrow at 7am on Christmas Day, where my beleaguered parents will be waiting, having woken up at 5am and driven an hour and a half from Cambridge to pick me up. I had offered to take a bus home, but when I said I might not have made it home in time for Christmas dinner if I do that, they demanded I let them come and wait at the arrivals lounge.
My flight back to New York is on the 8th January, a little over two weeks later. In that time I’ll:
- Catch up with friends/family
- Eat home-cooked food
- Feed porridge to the cat
- Watch Arsenal struggle to a 1-1 draw with West Brom at the Emirates
- Watch new Christmas episodes of all the same BBC shows I watched before I moved to the US (is Dot Cotton dead yet?)
- Have all my meals made for me
- Have all my laundry done for me
- Head to Rome for New Year’s because man how I miss Ryanair.
Before all this though (this weekend in fact), my girlfriend and I are heading north to the frozen wastelands of Canada. The wintry hellhole that will be Montreal, with all its fancy food, brilliant basilicas, cute cathedrals and magnificent museums. It’s going to be horribly horrific. I’ll be sure to write about how terrible it is when I get back.
This post is an effort to give this blog and all you people reading this some more insight into my life, instead of just a random, incongruous list of travel stories. So, umm, hi, random internet stranger. Let’s be friends.