Thursday, 9 January 2014

It's the most wonderful time of the year

At least, it is if you're a fourth year student of French at the University of Aberdeen. If not - if, say, you're a final year student of a real subject like my friend (and superior writer) +Monique Bouffe - then I guess this is a special kind of awful time of the year. She's actually the inspiration for this post because if she can blog while revising such awful things as the Polish constitution while I sit here sipping a ginger and pineapple and vodka drink...

(It needs a name. I'll get to the name later.)

...then I should really be able to gather my thoughts to write a blog, especially when so much has happened in the last few days. Not because I've made a resolution to live a more exciting life, but because my birthday was 4 days ago and an old flame crossed the water. That's a remarkably fancy way of saying that Mary came to visit Kate and me, but I am a fancy sort of chap.

We trekked around a lot of Aberdeen and Aberdeen repaid us with the best weather it could provide: rain, a side helping of rain and torrential rain to follow, with a theme of gale force winds throughout. Never have three people been so unpleasantly wet in the pursuit of things to do and see in Aberdeen, but we came through it with the aid of home cooked meals and Canadian whisky.

Last year I bought Mary a fancy pocket-watch; she likes clocks where you can see the gears moving. She was very pleased with the gift and I was very pleased with myself, but thought nothing more of it until she rocked up with my birthday gift: a book called The Devil's Picture Books, a tome about cards that was published exactly 100 years before my birth. I now own something that is a century older than I am and I confess I think that's wicked cool.

I've also received money from relatives, which as a student is the most perfect gift to receive - it can go on anything: from heating my little flat a bit more as the winter draws to a close to meaning I have enough for a little treat from the supermarket. It's probably going to be chorizo or beer. I've also got cards adorning my mantlepiece, reminding me that I'm not quite out of mind. It's peculiar and wonderful that people I saw only two weeks ago wished me a happy birthday and still felt they had to send a card. Love them.

Cards. The one on the end is on cards because inception.
The last night was spent in the good company of the many beers provided by Six Degrees North, a Belgian-style beer bar on Littlejohn Street over by Morrison's. I have no doubt you've already been there but if you haven't go there immediately. I insist. I do. Kate took charge of the camera and went fantastically snap-leaving me free to teach Mary how to play rummy - a game at which she immediately beat me three rounds in a row. My mother would be deeply unimpressed.

She left the next day, but I managed to introduce her to a Scottish breakfast before she left. She fought bravely but it defeated her; the only thing in all the rain and gloom that had. And that is the end of this blog; my procrastination now over as I refocus on French theatre of the 16th century. I'll be doing my best to blog more.

Not a resolution. Just a promise to try.