‘Baking… is sort of magic – you start off with all this disparate stuff, such as butter and eggs, and what you end up with is so totally different. And also delicious.’
Marian Keyes
More Christmas (and birthday)
Christmas
It’s Christmas!
‘Christmas, children, is not a date. It is a state of mind.’
Mary Ellen Chase
Christmas in Cornwall
‘Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time.’
Laura Ingalls Wilder
Super early in the morning on my first day in Newquay, we headed out en masse (family, aunt, uncle, two out of three cousins + partners, and all five chidlers + bump) to have breakfast with Santa. Much to my disappointment, Santa didn’t actually join us for the consumption component. But after eating a massive English breakfast, complete with fried toast that was interesting if not enjoyable, being hugged (or terrorised, depending on one’s age) by some very authentic Christmas Characters, and seeing real live reindeer, we did get to meet him in his shanty grotto, although I wasn’t allowed to sit on his knee.
We went to a pantomime in Truro in proper English tradition to keep the festive cheer levels up in my two grinchy brothers. It was of Cinderella, and featuring alongside some beautifully remixed pop songs and a less-than-tasteful Nigella joke was a rather gorgeous Prince Charming and his not-half-bad-either valet (pronounced with a hard t, since we were in Cornwall). It was on this outing that we got caught in the first proper storm that I have ever experienced in the British Isles. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if they would invest in some roadside guttering, but a large percentage of the roads were flooded, and I was the only one who seemed to get any enjoyment from dancing in the rain.
During the days, we drove to the coast to visit some run-down-but-still-cute Cornish villages and indulge in pasties, cream teas, and hard boiled lollies. Highlights included a damn good cliff blowhole and a potential rugby team in full on elf and sexy Santa get-up.
Not that I don’t love my gorgeous little cousins once removed, but after having them latch onto me in Summer, I was worried that I would spend my Christmas and 21st birthday looking after them rather than stuffing my face with the constant supply of food. Thankfully, for most of the time that we spent with family, my little brother was chosen as Lead Babysitter for his patience and Lego assembling skill. Aside for the occasional cuddle or book reading, I was then free to eat and drink all the amazing food that my wizard of an aunt had somehow managed to prepare (for 20 people on Boxing Day!)
After a final trip to the countryside to climb Roughtor, we headed up to London in the car. Seeing as I don’t currently live at home, and I’d usually drive myself places anyway, I’d forgotten what it was like to sit in the back seat between two six-foot-something brothers who like to have their knees and elbows jutting in the most awkward of angles. Somehow, we managed to make it up to London without anybody dying a mysterious death, and we had a lovely dinner out in Covent Garden with our family friends before catching the Eurostar the next morning.
Four Days of Solid Christmas
‘Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before! What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas… perhaps… means a little bit more!’
Dr. Seuss
Having valued affordability over convenience, I arrived at Stansted Airport at 2 am for an 8 am flight. I’d figured there’d be some way of entertaining myself – eating, drinking, shopping, reading, maybe a bit of sleeping – so that the 6 hours would be bearable. However, apparently everybody else was being cheap too, and all the soft spots of the lino floor were taken. There was no Starbucks or Macca’s in which to eat or drink, and I was so tired that I was falling asleep on my feet, so reading was in no way an option. So instead, I spent some of the money that I’d saved by travelling at such a horrible hour – but one can’t resist Victoria’s Secret!
Sharing a room with a group of Lithuanian boys made my stay in Bremen enjoyable, if a little bit noisy. To make it even better, I was apparently staying in a sort of upmarket red light district, which made walking into town (whilst avoiding all the cyclists and trams, much like Manchester) very amusing. An awful lot of shops appeared to be sex shops or drug stores (the one across from my hostel was called Udopea, which I thought to be an excellent pun), but they seemed somehow to remain classy in the cute neighbourhood of boutiques and lovely restaurants.
One rather cold morning, while waiting for the shops to open so that I could finish my Christmas shopping, I kept myself warm by exploring the main cathedral of Bremen. From the outside, it was a pretty standard European cathedral, but the inside was truly spectacular. Like the Parisian Notre Dame, the interior is painted, and although the decoration is not as intricate, these colours are a lot more vibrant. Bright red beams criss-cross the ceiling, and blue and gold tiles line the vaults.
I also visited the Schnoor a few times, which is the oldest neighbourhood of the city. Although now just a tourist trap of boutique shops and overpriced restaurants, the district was once the heart of the fishermen’s quarter. Being a tourist, I was easily tricked into entering the adorable, half-timbered, 15th C buildings that line the narrow streets.
Although I did make time to culture myself with the churches, historical districts, and art galleries, I spent a large amount of my time exploring the Christmas Markets. They were the reason (along with the hugely discounted travel) that led to be being in Bremen in the first place, and although there was no snow, they were well worth a visit. I spent hours browsing the stalls, picking up trinkets for presents and food for myself. Although my German is extremely limited, I made learning words for food a priority so that I could have a varied and fat-heavy diet, rather than living solely off bretzels. And now my Bucket List is one item shorter.
Arriving back in London, my Christmas spirit was crushed a little bit as I had a near death experience. The pilot (Ryan Air, naturally) lost control of the plane as we descended into Stansted, and our landing on the tarmac was more than a bit bumpy. He then had the nerve to play that stupid little ‘we landed on time!’ jingle. I was not a happy camper.
I only had one day in London to get my Christmas spirit back and revisit my favourite places. I’d seen the Oxford Road lights on the coach (as well as most of London, as our driver had to detour via Canary Wharf), but I still had a long list of things to do. First up was a trip to Hamleys Toy Store via Buckingham Palace and the parks to release my inner child and perve on all the massive Lego sets. I arrived before opening time, as I had no desire to be crushed in the hordes, so I sipped on a real coffee from a café off Carnaby Street (made by a lovely Aussie barista – none of this English rubbish) as I waited for the doors to open.
I then walked along Oxford St and down to the National Gallery – not actually to see the art this time, but because they don’t charge for the use of their bathrooms. I thought the Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square was a little bit sparsely decorated, but the thousands of tributes to Mandela that surrounded the fountains more than made up for it.
I then made my way past St Paul’s, along the Strand and its amazing cavern of Twinings, and up to Monument. I hadn’t been up the tower for almost three years – since I’d been in London with a friend on my gap year – and I’d forgotten how amazing the view is. But it really is the best view in London, and standing up there on a beautifully clear day not only froze me to the bone but also reminded me how beautiful the city is.
A little bit tired and really rather hungry, I walked through Borough Market to make the most of the free tastings of cheese, meat, and oil before buying myself an extremely late lunch. I ended my afternoon by strolling through the South Bank Christmas and book markets, and would have happily gone back after dark if an untimely thunderstorm hadn’t occurred.
The next morning, before going to Paddington to sip on a terrible English coffee and board my train to Cornwall, I went for an early morning walk across the bridge to Battersea. It was a bit of an enlightening morning – I discovered that Battersea Cats and Dogs Home is a real thing, I saw the Power Station for the first time, and I was reminded that ice is legitimately slippery when I fell over in the park.
And then, buying my own lunch for hopefully the last time for a few weeks, I headed down to Newquay to see the fam.
Catching you up
‘And I know it’s an addiction that I’m in love with fiction, but as long as I’m still breathing I’ll just have to keep reading.’
Carrie Hope Fletcher
In premature celebration of my 21st birthday, I spent the evening of the 1st doing lovely festive flat things. We kicked it off with a tasty dinner at Shere Khan on the Curry Mile before getting creative with the flat decor.
A few days later, thanks to the magic of facebook, I met up with a girl from high school who I hadn’t seen in almost five years since she moved to Melbourne. We explored the vintage shops in the Northern Quarter before having a pub lunch, and then moved onto the recently opened cathedral.
I took her to see the Rylands library in the hope that she might appreciate it as much as I had, and then we ventured over to the sprawling German Christmas markets.
Since then, not too much has happened. We had a flat Christmas dinner of 16 people – kudos to the chef – which was absolutely amazing, especially considering the quality of our kitchen. And then we got drunk, and everybody packed up and left for the holidays. I myself have just finished packing, and am heading off to London in a few hours to catch my flight to Germany to see some real Christmas markets – and then to Cornwall to see my family!
A Visit to Pemberley
‘Look, the round things! I love the round things. What are the round things? No idea.’
The Doctor
In an attempt to procrastinate writing my final essay of the semester, I’d filled up my week quite nicely. I attended a film night with the feminist society, viewed Catching Fire at the movies with the flats downstairs (oh my gosh it was amazing), watched the anniversary episode of Doctor Who, and met up with some other people who had either Hitched previously, or would be Hitching at the same time as me.
I had also booked a place on an International Society coach trip to the Peak District, to visit Chatsworth House and Bakewell.
So at the un-Godly hour of 9 on a Saturday morning, one would have found me shivering on a stone wall, my arse literally frozen, waiting for a coach to take me to the Peak District.
It didn’t warm up at all. Cars, trees, lawns, and even stray children were completely frosted over, and fog nestled tightly in the valleys as if trying to keep warm. I stayed bundled in my coat for the entire bus journey, as the driver wouldn’t discover the heating until the drive home, when he would pump it up to an uncomfortable 25 degrees. Acknowledging that I probably wouldn’t thaw out naturally any time soon, I heated up my insides with churros and a wild boar sausage from the Christmas markets as I waited to be allowed entrance to the house.
Chatsworth House, although supposedly beautiful on its own, was absolutely stunning adorned with an excess of Christmas decorations. It was themed to the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and they had done it very well. Fake snow, fairy lights, and festive holly were only a few of the many ornaments that bedecked the halls.
We then wandered out into the gardens for a few hours to stroll around the Pemberley Estate. The fountain was frozen over, and the ice was thick enough that it didn’t even crack when we threw things at it.
We bundled back onto the coach for the short drive to Bakewell, home of the Bakewell pudding and tart. The village itself was very pretty with all the houses covered in a traditional Derbyshire grey stone facing, but we almost ignored it in our scramble to get into the warmth. I ordered a Bakewell pudding and pot of tea, and although it was very nice and I’m glad that I tried it, I honestly don’t see what the fuss is all about. There are many other sweet things that I would much rather have. Carrot cake, for instance. Cause you can’t beat cream cheese icing.
John Rylands’ wife was a GC
‘And the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love, great clouds roll over the hills bringing darkness from above. But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?’
Dan Smith
A bit of a history lesson from the city of Manchester.
During the Industrial Revolution, Manchester was the greatest industrial city in the UK (and thus in the world), and at about the time that the Treaty of Waitangi was being signed, the city developed into a massive sprawl of mills, warehouses, and factories. Only a few years before, it had been a smallish rural town with not much going for it, but now it busily churned out yards of cotton and tanks of chemicals. Cotton and textiles became its central industry, hence why we call linen ‘manchester’ in the Antipodes.
John Rylands was a guy who capitalised on the cotton industry. He was the son of a cotton manufacturer, but he had a knack for business and quickly developed his father’s firm into an all-encompassing cotton industry. They were merchants and manufacturers, with properties all over Manchester and trade partners all over the globe, and it wasn’t long before John became the city’s first multi-millionaire.
After his death in 1888, John’s widow, Enriqueta, erected the John Rylands Library as a memorial to her husband. In a style recalling ecclesiastical architecture and the colleges of Oxford, architect Basil Champneys designed the Victorian neo-Gothic wonder that is now a Grade I listed building.
I could not imagine a more amazing memorial. I find it interesting that Enriqueta chose a library as a suitable monument, seeing as John was a businessman rather than a scholar or academic, but I’m definitely not complaining. I spent a very happy Friday afternoon exploring the exhibition on Giovanni Boccaccio, admiring the historic reading hall, and craning my neck to investigate the rosettes, dragons, and swans that formed some of the bosses in the corridors.
I followed that up with a gingerbread latte from Starbucks (even though I know that all of the festive drinks will be disappointing, I have a need to try them all) and wandered back to Piccadilly. I passed the wooden cabins that have been set up for the Christmas markets, and the stunning Town Hall, ruined slightly by a terrifying Santa monument. The Switch On for the Christmas lights would be happening that night, and although I am a massive fan of all things Christmassy and most things sparkly, I felt that a less consumerist decoration might have been more apt.
Intending to buy some gloves on my way home, I instead got distracted by the discount book store. Egged on by my recently refreshed bank balance and the memory of the glorious bookshelves in the John Rylands, I shelled out 12 pounds and returned home with six beautiful, crisp books to add to my ever growing book collection. Since it’s getting wetter and colder with every passing day and I’m spending more and more time curled up in bed with a book or two, I feel like my addiction is justified. My only concern is what to do with them all when I return home.
tobelivedthroughvicariously 