On the first day of this month I was asked whether I was looking forward to Christmas, to which I replied 'No, I f***ing hate Christmas.' It's not like me to be quite so blunt but this was several cocktails into the evening and my verbal filth filter had been temporarily disabled. The reply that came suprised me though - 'Ha ha, I knew you would say that. You're such a cynic.'
This comment came from someone who had known me for the sum total of a week back in August, when we met as fellow volunteer English teachers. Nevertheless, it stung a bit. I am a cynic, of course, but it worries me that other people notice, especially after just one week. It worries me even more, as I work in an establishment where cynicism is practically banned; have my colleagues also noticed this ugly trait in my personality? Probably.
The strength of my reaction to the whole Christmas thing doesn't come from the usual aversions to tinsel, spending time with family or buying presents though. None of these things fill me with joy I have to say, but the worst thing, by far, about the Christmas holidays is the abject sloth. There is a period of about a week when all societal norms go out of the window and even the act of getting out of my pyjamas and into the shower feels like a monumental achievement. For the first couple of days, I wallow quite happily in this state of suspended animation. After day four, though, serious cabin fever starts to set in. By day five or six? Well I am not completely paranoid delusional yet, but let's just say it's a good thing there isn't an axe in our garden shed or a reprise of Jack Nicholson's 'Johnny' in the Shining could well be on the cards. Thank god, then, for the New Year.
Everyone knows that New Year's Eve is a let down. That's a given. By midnight, most people in their right minds are either too pissed or overwrought to even notice the time. The only thing that's good about it is that it gets you out of the house. This is what I'm looking forward to anyway - the two minute walk to my local. This will happen in approximately four hours, so I have three hours to write this and an hour to make myself look vaguely human before the 'festivities' begin. In that time, I thought I would try and reverse my natural state and look back at all the things that made 2012 a good year. Actually, there has been quite a bit. I'm going to start with the least likely of all.
Sport
Anyone who knows me, will be slightly taken aback by the fact that sport features quite so highly on my list of great things about 2012. I have never been the sporting kind. Although I have undertaken various 'sports' in my life, it's not exactly something that defines me. This applies to football, especially. I was that archetypal kid who always got picked last for football sides at school (yes, it hurt, but it was thoroughly deserved). I can honestly say, however, that the moment Chelsea won the Champions League was amongst the happiest of my life. I love Chelsea FC with a passion which is completely inexpicable and often missplaced. I don't watch them very often (really, I'm not that into football - watching a match seems like quite a sad way to spend an afternoon most of the time) but when I do, I feel myself turning into a rabid fan. My love of Chelsea is an enduring love - they let me down time and again but I will always be there for them. I think my original interest started as a vague crush on Gianfranco Zola back in 1995, but they really gripped me when I happened to catch them beating Liverpool 6 - 2 at the Anfield stadium. Ironic, as I am now married to a Liverpool supporter (this did cause a drunken argument earlier this year, when Chelsea beat them to the FA Cup). Now, despite my general lack of commitment, I still consider myself part of a Chelsea family of fans. The Champions League win was, for me, one of the craziest nights of this year (and that really is saying something). The best thing was that it was won on penalties, ensuring a crucifying few minutes of tension. Luckily I had brought along my neice, herself an Arsenal supporter but conveniently on hand to cuddle when things got too much. When Drogba scored the winning goal, the whole place errupted. I was hugged more times than I care to mention by grown men in tears. Basically, if that had been the only good thing that happened this year, it would have been a pretty good year.
Of course, you can't mention sport this year without mentioning the Olympics. I have to say, if anyone thinks I am cynical, then they obviously never met any Londoners in the run up to the Olympics. The best one I met was on a training course in the Kings Cross area. God love her, whoever she was, but I have never met a more embittered old hag when it came to the subject. As anyone living in this country will tell you, however, we all did a complete turnaround once the event was underway.
I myself, in my own act of cynical rebellion, had a friend visiting and had booked tickets to see a comedy show on the night of the opening ceremony. It was a good night as it happened - the 'flash mob' we participated in on the balcony of Whitstable's Horsebridge Centre being another highlight of the year. However, the best part of the evening was coming home to find my husband and our 19 year-old house guest glued to the TV in a state of patriotic zeal (funny, as they are both Albanian). My friend and I managed to somewhat spoil this for them by singing along tunelessly to 'Hey Jude' but, generally, the scene was set for two weeks of the most shameless, partisan, armchair-sportsmanship ever. At one point, the evening where Jessica Ennis won the heptathlon, Mo Farah won whatever distance it was that he won and the long-jump guy won, well the long jump I guess, I actually sat painting my nails with the Union Jack in the belief that this would somehow send out positive 'vibes' to 'our' competitors. I also posted this on Facebook:
Just as a final mention for sporting highlights of 2012, I can't finish without reference to Andy Murray. Tennis is about the only sport I actually participate in from time to time and is, therefore, the only one with any real meaning for me. I was genuinely quite upset, for instance, when Rafael Nadal pulled out of Wimbledon this year due to injury. This was tempered, however, by the excitement of a 'Brit' (even a cantakerous, Scottish one) ending up in the final after 70-odd years. In fairness, he put up an amazing fight and his tears on losing the title were heartbreaking. In one of many crowd-pleasing success stories relating to the Olympics, he then went on to win the Olympic title. What a man - no, really.
Old Friends/ New Friends
It's been a great year for catching up with old friends. From the 40th birthday party I was invited to in January, where I got to spend time with someone I haven't seen for 15 years and was reminded about everything that made her so special to know, to the extremely wet Jubilee weekend, which included my best friend's birthday party and three food and wine-fuelled days in a caravan with one of my best friends from university, to the unexpected but extremely happy wedding of my best friend's younger brother, to the fun weekend spent with another university friend, ushering in the aforementioned Olympics, it's been great.
I owe special thanks, however, to my dance teacher, who made me aware of the Pueblo Ingles, English immersion programme in Spain. I applied to volunteer for this in April, thinking that I had little chance of getting on it so late in the year. It was hugely exciting to be accepted two days later. I'll be honest, though. My main reason for doing it was to get a cheap holiday. As the time approached, however, I started to read the small print and realised that I was, in fact, going to be working almost 24-7. I shouldn't have worried, though. It was work, yes, but it was also a ball from beginning to end and has pretty much left a lasting impression on me. It has also left me in touch with a number of people from around the world who I would never have known about otherwise. It struck me, some time after I got back, that it was the first time in my life where I have travelled anywhere completely alone. Yes, okay, I'm 41 and have obviously been to places on my own before, but I have also had someone I know to meet me at the other end. With that in mind, I can't tell you how odd or exciting it is to spend 8 days in the pretty-much round-the-clock company of 53 total strangers. Time is ticking, and I only have an hour or so before I start to 'beautify' myself, so even if I could tell you, I literally can't. All I can say is that it inspired me to try things that I have never tried before, prompted me to start learning Spanish again, improved my attitude at work and, above all, reminded me how interesting and lovely people are. Does that sound cynical to you? I don't think so.
And finally....dance, dance and more dance
Okay, as well as being a cynic, I am a hedonist. Maybe I'm selfish and should do some charitable works in my free time but I am also firmly in the belief that everyone needs and deserves a passion that is all their own in their lives. For me, this is dancing. Primarily, it is Flamenco dancing and, again, there is so much to say about this that it deserves a blog in it's own right. Having the chance to perform again back in March was great and also inspiring because I could see how much we have all improved, since our first performances around three years ago. This is one of the things I love about dancing - you never get any worse at it and, most of the time, if you stick with it, you get better. There are few things in my life that I can honestly say this about. Well, perhaps there are, but, as well as being a cynic and a hedonist, I can be very impatient and will tend to drop things like a hot brick if they don't seem to be working out how I want them to. Also, I love being part of a growing Whistable 'troupe' of dancers. Again, all wonderful and interesting people, who I am lucky enough to socialise with from time to time.
Recently, though, I discovered a whole new world of Salsa, after inviting myself along to a party night with one of my colleagues from work. The thing I love about Salsa is it's social nature. You always dance with a partner and, frankly, that partner could be anybody. With Flamenco, although I dance with other people, essentially it is between yourself and a largely imaginary 'audience'. With Salsa, it is about you and one other person, or at least for the duration of that dance. As a female, you are also surrendering yourself to someone else's lead.
I struggled with this at first, especially as the first person I danced with was a very large Eastern European man, who forced me into a Kizomba hold, before I had even had a chance to get in my first lesson. Kizomba, for anyone who doesn't know, is a form of dance orginating from Portugal via Zambia and is danced very, very closely to another person. It is about as intimate as you can get with a total stranger in public without being arrested and looks a little bit like the last dance at a school disco. Suffice to say, I was a little alarmed when the large man from Eastern Europe grabbed me, especially as my friend from work hadn't even arrived yet. After treading on his foot for the fiftieth time, I did tell him that I wasn't used to being led. 'No', he corrected me 'you are not used to following...' I don't know quite what he was getting at here - I like to think that there was some kind of hidden philosphical meaning in it, although in truth he was probably just correcting my English.
Putting this slightly awkward encounter to one side, there is something sweetly intimate and old fashioned about Salsa dancing. It is customary, I have noticed, to thank your partner after a dance has finished, which I think is lovely. A Salsa party night is also one time when it is positively advisable not to drink (actually this is probably true of most nights, although can't help thinking there's no fun in that). It is also hugely entertaining if you like dancing and especially if you love Latin music. If anyone is thinking about cutting out alcohol for a New Year's resolution, then I can highly recommend taking up Salsa as an alternative.
I myself, on the other hand, have no intentions of cutting out alcohol in the near future, and fully intend to spend this evening jigging away in an embarrassing fashion to the band playing in my local pub (the band in question is called 'Kelly's Heroes' I believe - they sound awful). I don't know if anyone will read this, especially at this late hour, but if you do, I hope you have a reasonably tolerable evening with your loved ones close at hand and, most of all, a 2013 packed with special memories. Looking back on mine has helped put things into perspective - I now feel more myself and less 'Johnny', so all's well that ends well. And on that note...
Happy New Year!
