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29 December 2013

Christmas in Yorkshire

Has anyone else ever noticed how impeccably dressed Macaulay Culkin is in Home Alone 2? A little bit different from this picture of him emerging from the Haunt in Brighton earlier this year. Mac, what went wrong dude?

This Christmas has been pretty decent. I returned from a spell in London/ Brighton (which I'll write about at some point) on the 22nd, just in time to recover somewhat for the big day. Saying that, I arrived home to find my stepbrother who I hadn't seen in months had come round, which naturally called for a trip to the pub next door for copious amounts of food and wine. A sore head ensued.

 On Christmas Eve I met Naomi to venture into Bedale. Usually it's a sleepy North Yorkshire town but on that evening it was the epitome of claustrophobia. Who knew the dinky Black Swan could hold so many patrons? I've never seen so many Christmas jumpers in my life. 

Despite my raised levels of anxiety, it was a lovely night, and I thoroughly enjoyed seeing so many familiar faces. Naomi and I also turned up, unknowingly, in matching jumpers which caused us great amusement but must've made us look like a pair of overzealous bats in the corner, especially as we managed to bag ourselves a huge table at which just the two of us sat for a couple of hours before our other friends showed up. 

Christmas Day was met with another sore head, mended sort of by the lovely presents I received from the fam and the lunchtime cider I consumed at the pub. I bought my little brother a ukulele for Christmas so we had a little play on that until dinner. And what a dinner it was. A roast expertly cooked by Mum with all the trimmings. Oh, Yorkshire puddings, I'll never tire of you.

That night I slept delightfully, with a stomach full of wine and turkey. 

Boxing day I spent mostly with my twin brother who was jetting off the next day to Valencia to see his girlfriend. We took a walk around Richmond, an old market town not far from Bedale. It was cold, muddy, and insanely busy but it did us good to leave the cocoon of the house. 

And we got to take awkward family photos.

 In the evening I ventured to my friend Lucy's house to partake in a Christmas do with all of her kin. We gobbled down the amazing spread her Mum had prepared, played party games, before heading to Northallerton in an overpriced taxi to get a taste of the less-than-wild nightlife.

The (sole) club in Northallerton is like a vacuum. No matter how strongly you insist you shall not be going, you can't help but be dragged in. This may be because everywhere else closes at midnight, or because maybe you love paying an extortionate amount of money to get in and then for drinks, or because standing in a cage of a smoking area really gets you going ... who knows. All I know is after a summer of going most weekends and vowing I would never return, I was sucked back. And it was... well, how I imagined it would be. Although through the throngs of 17 year olds and sambuca shots I did happily get to see some old faces.

It's nicknamed the 'Bongo' and is also the place Boy George got punched in the face. Take from that what you will.

It also mildly resembles a prison. (Please don't bar me for these statements, Bongo, I'll probably be back sooner than I hope). 

Thus, Christmas wrapped itself into a nice, red bow, in somewhat of a blur. See you next year Santa.

Happy holidays everyone!


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