Thankfully, this wasn't the case. Eventually the weather changed and we were blessed with some glorious Spring weather. This made me jump at the opportunity to emerge from my hole and venture further outside than just to the corner shop to buy tea and biscuits. It was also around this time I began the BBC Book Challenge, essentially a "100 books to read before you die" thing. At the very least, this could distract me from the ongoing disappointment of jobhunting: applying for countless positions, attending various interviews, and then ultimately hearing nothing back from any. This did not help my motivation at the beginning of what was sure to be one of the worst years of my life. So I replaced disappointment and frustration with books, which cost more but gave my pointless existence some semblance of purpose.
After the amazing Spring weather, we entered a typically English Summer. It rained, and it rained... and then it rained some more. Torrential rain, thunderstorms, water literally cascading from the roof. With the exception of a couple of days in June, the temperature never got very high. I'm not really sure how I feel about heatwaves. I mean, there is a strange novelty in stepping outside one morning and feeling as though you have been transported to the Mediterranean. But I suppose the novelty of being inside an oven wears off after a short while and I am left praying (obviously not actually praying) for storms. And there were lots of storms...
2011 was also the 5th consecutive year of moving house. Worse than ever before, the stress of it all made me feel like a masochist. Why do you do this to yourself, every single year? The district we had pinned our hopes on, despite being affordable in Spring, was suddenly way out of our price range, along with the extortionate cost of deposits, and that properties stay on the market for an average of about 36 seconds in London, made it all a pain in the arse before it even began. And then, we tried to move by public transport. I hear you, why the fuck would anyone do that? It seemed like a sensible idea at the time, but how, I have absolutely no idea.
Shortly after moving six miles closer to central London, my work placement started. This had its highs and lows as I have mentioned previously. The placement itself lasted two months, but I continued volunteering there on an ad hoc basic rather exasperatedly. Officially, I resumed weekly meetings with the condescending club at the Jobcentre, which began what was sure to be a steady decline towards the end of the year. The debate over whether to continue working very few irregular hours or call it quits and return to job-hunting in earnest has been my main concern these past three months, and I never did come to a decision. Since I am now being paid, I figure working irregularly is better than not working at all.
When the lights and decorations go up and December comes round, I think about this:
The Three Disappointments of December
- My birthday
- Christmas
- New Year's Eve
December is an all-round messy month, for a number of reasons. It starts with my birthday, which this year consisted of 6 of my friends staying in my rather small 1-bed apartment for 4 days. Literally climbing over one another to reach the fridge and having to join a queue whenever you need to pee is not an enjoyable way to spend a weekend. I planned the weekend that we would spend as much time out of the house as possible, but this did not go down well. It seems that most of my friends, instead of spending their weekend in London actually doing things in London, would prefer to just sit in front of the TV. I did not foresee this, I did not understand this, and after much complaining and bickering I pledged never to try organising anything ever again. It was meant as a threat but it was probably considered a relief. I spent the next week in bed sulking over what a failure the whole thing had been. But the one thing that did succeed, as always, was being drunk from Thursday through to Monday, which was a taste of the rest of December.
After two weeks usually spent in bed recovering comes Christmas. I have learnt from 2010 to avoid the West End as much as possible in December (and mostly November as well), because it is sure to raise the natural levels of rage in one's blood, be it through hordes of stupid people with 65 bags on each arm, the tacky, kitschy Christmas decor, or the horrible Christmas music, which is played everywhere, 24 hours a day, and haunts my dreams. After much deliberation, I crawled back to stay with my family in York, remaining completely sceptical on the way there. On the 25th I stayed in bed reading until early afternoon so as to avoid the explosion of consumerism happening in the living room. This avoided the general feeling of disdain that Christmas morning brings. The wonderful books which I received, and never being without an alcoholic drink, actually made it enjoyable. So the Christmas of 2011 will be remembered as one of the better ones, but again, being drunk for an entire week has severe negative effects.
New Year's Eve has definitely gained a bad reputation. Last year, due a public transport fail, we were still stood shivering in a bus stop at midnight, and ended up spending £40 on a taxi to finally get to the club, which itself, costs something like £30 a ticket and a further £5 per drink. The club was just good enough to outweigh these failings, but spending £50+ on one night out is something I will never feel okay with. The year before that I went to a house party, in which everyone fell asleep by 10pm, and the year before that I don't even remember. So this year we took a "no frills" approach; we'll go to the club that we always go to. Being members, it cost a mere £10, and thankfully, the bring-your-own-booze policy and drinks prices at the bar did not change because of the date. This meant that at midnight we were on the dance floor with a bottle of champagne listening to the countdown, rather than sat in a bus stop. I would consider this a success.
No matter how successful or unsuccessful these events turn out to be however, December is just one long binge. And when it's over I feel like shit. It's inevitable, as is January being crowned "most depressing month of the year". For the first few days I barely got out of bed, so acute was my sense of shame as I recovered from a very prolonged hangover. Because of this severe hangover following the disgraceful behaviour of December, it is no surprise that people make a desperate attempt to change their ways. There is always something we could quit, or do more of, or do less of. Especially after a year as shit as 2011. The only resolution that I have come up with so far is to drink less, but since I go various festivals every year; 3 days of drinking, getting drunk, and getting completely wasted, this could be a difficult one to keep. But (and this can ultimately summarise my entire outlook for 2012) we'll see how it goes.
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