Shortly it will be 2 years since I left Edinburgh and moved to Southern California. There have been ups and downs, particularly this second year which has been a roller-coaster from start to end. Generally though I`ve enjoyed my time in the OC and the various places I`ve been to see and experience. I hope next year will continue in much the same way, although I`d like the opportunity to see more of the US, particularly a trip to New York and Yellowstone still appeal strongly.

Things have been tough though. The trouble is that over the last 2 years I`ve had quite literally dozens of people come visit me either in the US or in Paris, and before I go on let me just say that I`ve enjoyed every single one of the visits no end. The thing is that when people come to visit its a holiday for them, its just normal time for me, which means I have to get up to go to work each morning while they enjoy their holiday. People generally leave after the visit with a one sided view of how things are if you move abroad from the UK. They remember the sunshine, the hot tub, the balcony, the great places to eat drink and go to hang out …. then they think they should do the same.

There’s only one problem with that theory. Moving abroad is really not that easy. Coming over for a visit is one thing. Sticking it out is a whole other kettle of fish.

Just for example, a few things that I had to figure out.

Where am I going to live?
How do I pay bills in another country?
Is there an internet connection that will work?
Do I know anyone out there?
How will I feel not being able to phone home when I want due to time zone differences?
What laws will be different out there which might be perfectly reasonable to me, but unacceptable to the local culture?

Things were relatively easy for me as my company figured out most of this for me in advance, but if I was doing it all alone…..

….. and in a country where there might be a language barrier too…..

…. all I can think about is that I wouldn’t go rushing into things without thinking them through long and hard first.

Not today, obviously, that was last week, but before I continue with the story on how I was evicted, and as its still the festive period I thought I`d give an account on how I spent Christmas day.

As a quick side note I was pleasantly surprised when I caught up with a mate of mine yesterday who I had not seen in about a year when he greeted me with a full on ‘Happy Christmas’. At last someone else that recognises that Christmas goes on until at least the end of the year rather than being all over after the big day itself.

Anyway, back to that big day. This year followed the same pattern as pretty every Christmas. I started the day with a hangover after drinking heavily the previous evening down at The Tap with mates. I always get picked up by my parents who attend the midnight church service at the local church just down the road. I consider the Tap to be a church too ….. of sorts.

Hangovers on Christmas day though dont last long as the first drink of the day is with breakfast. A bottle of champagne is opened and started was we munch down the traditional smoked salmon and scrambled eggs on toast. This year I was the breakfast chef.

Luckily each year my mum cooks the turkey and ices the cake on Christmas Eve to take some of the stress away from the day to follow.

The icing of the cake is always awesome. She always does it after a good couple of whiskies and the icing looks just like a scene from the north pole….. its not meant too, it just always turns out that way.

The rest of the champagne is quaffed wile each opening one gift from under the tree. My parents went first:

I was rather more impressed with that Santa brought for me this year:

To prevent the booze wearing off my dad and I head on down to the local pub, just a couple of hundred meters away at very most. Some years you cant even get in, last year the place was empty. This year was somewhere in the middle

We stay for a couple then head back for the big Christmas meal which has been prepared by mum, mainly because if it was left to my dad we would end up eating turkey flavour crisps, and if it was me we`d have low fat turkey and a glass of mulled protein powder shake to wash it down with. Thank the lord for mum and her cooking:

A starter of assorted seafood

Before the main meal itself:

I dont have any pictures of the pudding because it was trifle and had about 2 bottles of rum in it and I kind of zoned out for a bit, but came around for long enough to realise that it was present opening time. A few years ago we all decided that Christmas was a bit of a damp squid after dinner and all the gifts had already been opened, so its been a tradition of late to leave the rest of the gifts unopened until after dinner to leave us something to look forward to.

The main thing my dad and I bought for my mum was a table tennis table. She has been after one for years and used to play all the time at work - well not all the time, but most of it.

I decided not to play, as I had both my hands reserved for drinking purposes.

My mum and I got my dad an iTouch, which, according to my mum is ‘much better than one of those Blueberries’ I think she might be right there.

After all the eating and drinking, mostly drinking my brain automatically shifted back into gym mode, not having been to one in over 24 hours was starting to make me have funny twitches.

So I prescribed exercise for my mother. A whole bunch of sit ups, oblique crunches and other abb exercises. I think she enjoyed it:

To end a day full of excess drinking what could be better than trying to start a bonfire? Nothing could go wrong, and for once when I say that I was right. We sat out on the cold Christmas night with the patio heater on full blast and roasted some horse chestnuts on top of the roaring chimenea.

And had a few more drinks.

Of course.

What did you expect.

Its Christmas.

And it still is – and if you disagree then you are just wrong…..

…. or just slightly less of a child than I still am

Posts here have been a bit on the infrequent side of late, as you may or may not have noticed. This is due to a big list of reasons, most of which none of you would be interested in hearing. Mainly due to me having friends come visit me in Paris, being off work ill and having bad news given to me day after day.

And I was sent to work in Belgium last week with just 1 days notice.

Very nice it was too. I stayed in a place about 20 miles away from Liege in Pietersheim chateaux in the middle of nowhere.

I travelled across from Paris to Liege on the Monday morning, taking just over 2 hours on the ultra high speed trains, that were not only on time, and very comfortable, but also very affordable and with a well stocked bar. The woman serving at the bar even gave me the happy hour prices even though it was not happy hour for a good few hours. I think that she liked me - she also thought I was German despite the fact I spoke French and she could not speak English or French. Oh well, whatever works.

Anyway, work that week was good. The food in Belgium seemed mostly to be chips that had been already fried, but were given a second trip to the bottom of the deep fat fryer when you ordered a portion of them, served with a large dollop of mayonnaise on top.

The beer though was outstanding. Most people from the UK think of Belgium beer and will imagine Leffe or Hoegaarden. In Belgium these 2 are the Carling and Tennants of the UK. Common as much and generally avoided in favour of ‘real beer’ which, according to the Belgium is served in the most ridiculous glasses imaginable, always in half pints, mainly because the glasses would be too expensive otherwise and because most of the beer is at least 8 percent.

I found that out the hard way.

Twice.

So after 4 days of drinking rocket fuel from exotic flower vases and eating double fried chips it was time to leave.

And that was Friday:

Firstly my taxi arrived at the chateaux an hour early. Not being in any mood to much about I sent it away and ordered another for the correct time. I jumped in and we headed right for a 5km traffic jam. Not exactly the thing you need when you have a train to catch. The ride ended up costing 100 euros for a 20 mile journey. Nice.

Next up was the train to Paris which nice. Things were going well, I had a nice beer on the train, I had 4 hours to get back to my apartment, pack up a few remaining things, grab a quick bite to eat in a local cafe and grab a cab to Paris CDG airport and on to Liverpool for Christmas.

Life was good again.

That was until I got back to my apartment in Paris and found the lights on……

….. and a whole new family moved in, with all my stuff sitting at the front door and an angry Australian man asking what the hell I was doing in HIS apartment.

It turns out I had been evicted…..

(to be continued)

Posts have been, shall we say, a little on the light side this month. To be fair this has not really been my fault. Hopefully I`ll get more of a chance over the next few days to do some retro posting about the craziness of the past little while and how I ended up working in Belgium last week at 10 minutes notice.

Maybe.

But not today, because today is Christmas day and all I want to do is sit infront of the fire, watch Christmas TV and drink some fancy French wine.

I suggest you do the same.

Happy Christmas.

Not me of course, I`m still the most perfectly sculpted human being any of you are likely to ever come across… (I`m still as humble as ever)

I am instead referring to the eating variety.

About 5 years ago I went, each Sunday, to The Kings Wark in Leith, Edinburgh. I never even bothered looking at the menu. I knew what I wanted and I always ordered the same thing. A pint of Deuchars to go along side my portion of moules mariniere.

It was gorgeous and the perfect way to end the weekend in style.

I did this for nearly a year and I remember clearly the day my mussel infatuation ended.

Well, strictly speaking I remember the day after, and so do probably most of my colleagues at the time, because on that day I filled up all the toilets in the gents with semi digested mussels, and both of the sinks too.

I was bi-directionally sick for 2 days constantly.

I was so ill that my boss, who was notorious for his scepticism over staff illness ordered me to go home. I spent the next 2 days in bed.

The mussels had me well and truly beaten.

That was the last time I ordered mussels in a restaurant.

Until yesterday, when I plucked up enough courage to order moules mariniere once again.

They arrived perfectly cooked, wonderfully presented, and best of all, they were free,

The sad thing is…. I couldn’t enjoy them. My experience with mussels back in 2004 was so traumatising that I now know that it has put me off them for life.

Which made me think, what if I get food poisoning off my next favourite food, and the one after, and then the one after that? When I`m 80 will I only ever be able to eat carrots?

One thing is for certain. I`ll certainly not be getting any food poisoning off mussels again.

They are off my menu.

Forever….
as well as brussels sprouts at Christmas - you hear me mother????