Snow is falling, all around us, children playing, having fun…

With my first few weeks in London under my belt Christmas was fast approaching. It was that wonderful time of year when families across the world come together and celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ (or, as most of my friends would like to see this time, the time of year when we receive presents – to be fair no one really likes the giving, all that Christmas shopping is a bit stressful). The celebration usually involves lots of alcohol, lots of food and god forbid, the family board game (don’t bring out the trivial pursuit) and inevitably lots of arguments (lots of cheating at the game) and lots of fighting, or is that just my family?

This first Christmas in London began as a joyous occasion as all Christmases do. I awoke to an empty flat. Both dizzy blonde receptionist and rich girl had both made an early departure home leaving the emptying of the fridge, clearing of the dead flowers (we didn’t have flowers often and so they had been left there until there was literally no life left in them) and taking out of the bin and recycling bag to me. To be fair, this did not leave me in the best of moods and I decided, slightly pig headedly, that I was not going to make two trips, I was going to do this all in one. So, with bin bag, recycling bag and (rather large) suitcase in hand I attempted the stairs…and fell.

I opened my eyes to find a split up bin bag, the contents on the floor and an old jacket potato skin in my hair. Back up the stairs to get the dustpan and brush I limped (my ankle had been twisted in the fall). So much for not going up back and forth up the stairs. I cleaned up the mess and made my way to work and then to a packed Paddington station, with everyone trying to get home for Christmas.