Christmas Celebration Marathon

Much concern was expressed by family and friends who read this blog on a regular basis upon our return home for Christmas. On reflection, it does seem that there have been an increasing number of negative posts over the last few months. What with the stress of planning, battles for resources and the claustrophobic nature of living in a small village with little to do in the way of socialising, it had been difficult to see the positive side of life. We spent the last month focused upon going home for two and a half weeks at Christmas. All my thoughts were on quality time with friends and family, pints, pubs, cheap shopping, chips and gravy, Asian food and my first Christmas dinner with my mum in seven years. It is only when you live abroad that you really appreciate the cold and rainy England.

Thankfully our return for our first Christmas home in four years was everything we hoped and much much more. Some of the many highlights included a Christmas Day drivathon; five visits in twelve hours, seventeen different pubs, a Decathlon shopping frenzy (you can never have enough stylish sporty black jackets, Nick now has one for every season), my Mum's Christmas dinner with so many trimmings I left feeling despondent that I hadn't eaten enough and days of waking up at Nick's house which was as warm and welcoming as ever. Sadly the time at home passed quicker than we'd expected. And after a week I already had a growing sense of panic and guilt that we weren't going to see everyone. Two and a half weeks had seemed like such a long time. As we worked out our packed schedule and tried to divvy nights between mums fairly we quickly realised it wasn't actually much time at all. Both mums seemed quite shocked when we gave them their allocated four evenings each... where does the time go? Did we really need so much time in Ireland...? Had we made the right decision just going for the cheapest flights rather than the days that fit best. Surely there is only so much Guinness and Bulmers you can drink in the quaint Irish tardises that are otherwise known as pubs.

Thankfully the amount of time in Ireland was just right. We arrived after about five days of solid catching up and we were in much need of a quiet meal, a big comfy sofa and control of a TV remote. This was exactly what we were given. This gave us enough time to recover our enthusiasm for New Year's Eve the following day. New Year is a tricky one and probably leaves 90% of revellers feeling they didn't quite get what they were hoping for and it wasn't quite the night of the year they anticipated. Every year many of us say that we are going to have a quiet one so as not to start the New Year with stress and disappointment. You buy a new outfit, do the hair and make up and plan for the best night of the year. Generally what actually happens is you pay a fortune to get into a place so busy you can't even get to the bar to buy one of the overpriced drinks that strangely fail on this one mighty let it all go night to actually get you drunk. You can't find a seat and there are so many people it's difficult to find the ones you actually want to talk to and bring the New Year in with. Then, to top it all of if you're ripped off on the taxi ride home, that is if you're one of the fortunate few who actually manage to get a taxi to take you anywhere useful. Maybe this isn't everyone's view of New Year, maybe I’m just getting old.

New Year in Ireland was probably one of the best New Years I’ve ever had. Opting for a meal in for and then a short ride to the local where drinks were reasonable and it was free to get in was a spark of genius. The local in question is about thirty minutes outside of Galway in a small village. About the size of a farmhouse kitchen, this one room thatched roof pub had a steady stream of music we liked, a cosy corner we wedged ourselves into between the window and the bar (instant service on New Year's Eve, surely not) and welcoming locals that sounded like Brad Pitt in Snatch. Immersed in gossip and banter we got steadily smashed and enjoyed a lock in and dancing towards the later hours. Even the premenstrual tattooed-motor bike riding bar manager didn't manage to spoil the night. Just because someone broke a glass and fell out of the toilet doesn't mean you need to get all stressy on us.

We recovered from our New Year celebration in true Irish fashion; bacon, black pudding, white pudding, sausages and eggs before embarking on a day exploring the pubs in town. Galway has an incredible density of pubs. There are probably more pubs than any other type of shop or restaurant. Every pub has a unique atmosphere. You get sucked into one and find it hard to leave. You force yourself out and into the one next door and feel a sense of loss over the one you just left. Moments later having gone round a corner, down the stairs, into a bar, through another bar, up the stairs, past the musicians and across a balcony do you find that you are still in the same bar and not in fact in another realm and you have been engulfed of the jovial easy going warmth of yet another tardis of a pub. After five months of publess Ifrane the pints, the music and the good 'craic' that surrounds you everywhere you go in Galway was just what we needed.

Having had such a good time in Galway we returned to England for more celebrating. We drove from Manchester across the unusually pretty moors to Sheffield for Nick's brother's wedding. With concern about getting over Snake Pass in wind and wild weather we were staying in the hotel the day before the wedding. This allowed us to spend some more quality time with all parts of Nick's family. The wedding was beautiful; a meeting of Persian and Western culture and special for all lucky enough to be there. The highlight of the night was the groom's take on the 'second' dance where he danced in a rather inventive way wearing shades and an afro wig in front of his new wife and the bridesmaids to Daddy Cool. There is something strange that happens to men when they attend weddings. After trying to avoid it at all costs the rest of the time, at weddings they suddenly find their disco grove and hit the dance floor like it's going out of fashion. Andrew and Shima's wedding was no exception. In fact the dance floor was mainly filled with men most of the night. It was strange to be the only female at times. And no, they weren't gay.

Thankfully after my initial panic we did manage to spend enough time with people. Always planned to the last minute anyway, we became quite creative with our time keeping. We 'double dated' with friends and family. This led to one rather entertaining evening where my step dad Karl (a Manchester City supporter) enjoyed winding up Nick's dad Eric (a United supporter) over a Thai meal. Despite a few tense moments for me and Nick everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. We also ended up out with my family and friends for an Indian that while being very tasty was slightly bizarre due to the fact that 80's music was blasted out through the restaurant all evening. You would trail off mid sentence momentarily distracted by the chronic taste in music that someone had.

For all those who were concerned, our return to Ifrane has been surprisingly positive. I shan't write about it now. Living in a sleepy village doesn't provide much in the way of interesting reading so it can be kept for next week. 

Sadly we were unprecedently camera lazy this holiday so have no pictures. Christopher Collins needs to post them... and having trouble downloading wedding ones.