There's something about coming home for Christmas that makes the holiday as exciting for a twenty year old as it is for a two year old. Being in a different country in the run-up to Christmas makes it quite hard to feel particularly festive. Without a doubt, I was counting down the days until my flight home, but all the usual signals that it's coming up to Christmas - the first viewing of the Coca-Cola advert, the tree going up, the very first cry of "IT'S CHRISTMAAAAAS!" from Noddy Holder - aren't there. It's surprising how out of the Christmas spirit you can feel without all of these usual indication of "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" being just around the corner.
The week leading up to my return to the UK was characterised by last-minute present buying, tidying up the odds and ends in my fridge so I don't come back to an unpleasant surprise, and a sudden panic that my suitcase would be way, way over the limit (it wasn't, so I can still bring my presents home - always good.). As can be expected after four months away from home, I was really ready to be coming home and seeing my friends and family again; and I think this anticipation was only increased by the prospect of a Christmas dinner - and my first roast since I left home in August - prepared for me by my old housemates. And what a feast it was. Turkey, stuffing, pigs in blankets, honey roast parsnips, carrots, broccoli, roast potatoes, gravy and, my special request, cranberry sauce - with apple strudel and custard (Ambrosia, of course) to finish.
It was utterly divine and such a welcome "welcome home". My thanks go to Izzy, Emily and Georgia for a indulgent dinner, lovely presents, and a really fantastic welcome back.
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