Well hello there dear readers (all 4 of you). I am sorry for the delay in posting. The end of term crept up upon me as it is wont to do and deadlines, alcohol and the horrendous C word (Christmas) prevented me from posting mindless anger on the internet. Perhaps that is a good thing? I am still, by the by, unsure about this whole blog expedition. I feel it is rather like smoking: I am unsure about the benefits of smoking (if there are any) but it has become a rather bad habit and being the lazy and unmotivated git I am I don’t hate it enough to quit it. Much like the blog. I am unsure where it is going (at least it is unlikely to kill me, unlike cigarettes) or indeed what good (if any) it is bringing to the world but I am reluctant to quit it. Which is obviously super wonderful to all you beautiful (and odd) people reading it!
Anyway, Christmas happened, turkey, presents, cracker yada yada yada. It was, on the whole, uneventful. I worked Christmas Eve so I didn’t even go out and get ridiculously drunk which is a crying shame. Oh, I am back from the commuter belt (as I fondly like to call Surrey) and securely in the middle of the M25 again. (Really, it is much like moving from one commuter belt to the other but this one has the prefix of Greater).
Where I live is en masse unexciting. It is on the very edge of a very large city which you may have heard of called London. The town does have the feel of being slightly overshadowed by something it will never quite be. We are just about on the London Underground (if you count Richmond, which I would say I do, as it is technically walking distance from my house) and very much in the oyster card area. It is known for one thing and one thing only: Rugby. (I am not, of course, from Rugby… I believe that is in the Midlands.) It has a plethora of grotty pubs (and the odd decent one), a selection of places for less than fine dining and an oasis of charity shops. The most exciting thing to happen in Twickenham over the last year was the opening of a Tesco Metro where the Red Lion used to be. I’m not sure how I feel about this because of the whole Socialist tendencies etc. However, its usefulness I cannot quibble. Anyway, when I was at Surrey I held Twickenham in an almost omnipotent glow. Now I am back here I am of course shining a light of similar calibre on Guildford.
Naturally I can see the faults in Twickenham. To name but a few: it’s full of chavs; the shops are shit; the whole place needs a throughly good clean; its over run with school and college kids… etc etc. However, it is my home town and in a sort of A E Housman-esque manner I adore it and could sing its praises all day. (A E Housman- A Shropshire Lad, try On Bredon- it’ll blow your bollocks off). To suffice to say, I am enjoying being at home. However, Jade and I are LAG TIL WE DIE when we get back to Guildford (after the exams of course). I am more than excited to be back in GTOWN where dreams are made and poets are woven.
Now, I feel is the time to, in a round about way, reveal the true nature of this post. I feel oddly gulity I’ve lured you all in to a romantic and rather charming account of how I love my town even though it’s a shit hole blah blah blah and actually my real reason for this blog was to convey my deep hatred (no suprise there) of New Year’s Eve.
I can hear you cry, dear reader, ‘But Alex! You hate everything!’ In short, yes. However, the way I feel about New Year is paticularly special. I really don’t bloody like it. I resent the idea of New Year’s Resolutions. January’s grotty as fuck without the addition of horrid resolutions to give up the things we love best (fine food, smoking, alcohol, unsuitable suitors etc.) The parties almost always turn out to be shit: everyone gets trashed early on, and someone always starts crying. I always kiss someone inappropriate at midnight. Or worse, as was last year, my New Year’s kiss was a gay man who clearly pitied my being unkissed state. Shame.
So my one and only New Year’s Resolution was to spend New Year’s Eve exactly as I want and the way I want to spend it is by cooking food all afternoon with Redburn, getting drunk and watching Jean Luc Godard films then maybe going to the place I work for a tipple and ending up at my friend Ciara’s house at about 3. I refuse to go up to London, to go to a club, to go to a party or to do anything I don’t definitely absolutely want to do. And I’m pretty fucking happy about it.
Happy New Year, you beautiful people. May the next year treat you well but not so well that I am jealous of your successes. Love.